The Night of the Monstrous Storm
by Andamogirl
Summary: James West and Artemus Gordon are banished on a small island with a lighthouse away from the population of Mobile after Artie is diagnosed with the yellow fever and on top of this a monstrous hurricane is on its way to the Gulf of Mexico threatening to destroy everything and, of course, the island is on its destructive path.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE MONSTROUS STORM**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: season one, because there's a reference to "The Night of the Howling Light", one of my favorite episodes and because the first season was filmed in black & white and it accentuates the dramatic effect of the hurricane.

Reference to my story called "The Night of the First Mission" and reference to the season 1 episodes "The Night of the Howling Light" & "The Night of the Fatal Trap."

I did my best to be medically accurate regarding the yellow fever virus.

 _Jim: Course. A lighthouse._

 _Dr. Arcularis: A poor thing, but my own._

 _Jim: I thought the government owned lighthouses._

 _Dr. Arcularis: Ah, but you see, I own the lighthouse keeper._

The Night of the Howling Light

Warning: sickfic. Vomiting. Hurt / comfort.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _Mobile, Alabama, January 18, 1873_

 _Silver Star hotel, at night_

He didn't look good.

Glancing at his reflection in the cracked mirror hanging above the dressing table, Artemus Gordon let out a tired sigh. He was sick and his condition had deteriorated in a matter of hours. It wasn't a small cold anymore, he thought, his brow furrowed with concern.

He continued to muse: his headache had turned into a pounding, painful, splitting migraine and his sniffles into sneezes. His running nose had stopped dripping and now was stuffy and paralyzed by numbness like the rest of his face. His coughs had morphed into wet coughing fits. Plus his throat was dry, itchy and sore and swallowing saliva or anything else was literally torture. He wasn't as cold before, but now his hands and feet felt like ice cubes. His body felt heavier than before a few hours ago and he was harassed by muscle and joint aches. He had a light fever since this morning, nothing to worry about, but it had increased and he was unhealthily flushed beneath his stubbled cheeks. Heat was radiating from his face and body now and droplets had formed on his forehead.

He narrowed his eyes shadowed with dark circles, the result of lack of sleep, haunted by nightmares that plagued his nights.

He sighed. Each time he closed his eyes, he could see people with yellow fever dying around him, children and babies among them. The streets of Lafayette were covered with dozens of buckboards with dead bodies piled high lined up along the boardwalks. The air was unbreathable because of the black smoke rising above the gigantic fires where the dead were being burned. The dreadful odor of the charred flesh had made him sick and he had left the city in tears and vomiting on his horse.

He chased away those terrible images from his mind and rubbed his wet, reddened eyes as the light of the oil lamp was too bright.

He dimmed it and moaned in relief. "Oh… much better," he whispered.

He was fatigued, no he was more than that. He was exhausted. He felt like he was 100 and he would be only 43 in just over two months, he added in his mind.

He rubbed his temples tiredly, suppressing a huge yawn. "Artie, old boy, you need a long, long leave, like a forever-long one," he said realizing how congested he sounded now. He realized too that he was thirsty, more like dehydrated. Taking the chipped pitcher he poured water into the glass which was sitting in front of him, up to the brim.

Holding the fingerprint-covered glass in one hand, he used the other hand to touch his brow, finding the skin there feverish. "Let's hope it's only the influenza," he added. Then he sneezed twice then shivered. "And not the yellow fever…"

He shivered with dread thinking again about what happened in Lafayette, surrounded by mosquitos-infested bayous where Jim and he had broken up a counterfeiters ring, less than one week ago. They had been exposed too to the incurable disease. Since that time he had been feeling sick. But he was suffering from the first telltale signs of influenza before leaving the Wanderer to head to Lafayette. He had lied to Jim, telling him it was a bad cold, that 'fresh air' would do him good, that it would vanish enroute to Louisiana – but the truth was he didn't want to let his best friend go to Lafayette, to face those dangerous people alone. His best friend was a trouble magnet, and he had to be at his side to be able, if needed, to help him and save him.

He shook his head, dismissing the idea of having the yellow fever as the symptoms matched those of the flu and regretted it, as pain flared in his poor fuzzy brain. He winced. 'No… no, it's the flu, it's just the flu, nothing else, and it's already serious enough," he continued to talk to himself. But he had doubt as he remembered that the initial symptoms of the yellow fever were similar to those of the influenza virus. "Let's hope it's just the flu," he added and coughed heavily.

He lowered his sweaty face in his hands and grunted. His pounding headache was getting worse. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease it and groaned. It didn't work.

Looking again at his reflection in the mirror, with reddened eyes, he traced his hairy jawline with a fingertip. "You seriously need to see a barber," he rasped out.

He took a sip of water and then downed the cool liquid thirstily. Immediately afterward the nausea he had been fighting for a couple of hours now surged up again. "Oh boy…" He hiccupped queasily, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, swallowing. Then, feeling just a bit better he re-opened his eyes and the world spun a little. "That was a good idea, but also a bad idea…" He croaked out.

He touched his feverish brow again. He was now burning up. He started to really worry when his vision began to black out at the edges. The flu had reached its maximum intensity.

He coughed hard a couple of times, then took in a deep breath and his lungs rattled alarmingly. "Artemus, old boy, you need to see a doctor, now," he said to himself and stood on shaky legs, bracing against the worn out chair on which he had been sitting. He yelped as his knees and back hurt so much that he could barely move. Ow! That was new, he thought.

Gritting his teeth, feeling his weak strength abandon him, he took a wobbly step forward toward the door of his low-end hotel room. But he didn't reach it.

He grabbed the foot of the bed and held on to it like a lifeline while he waited for his vision to stop spinning. He suddenly gagged and vomited at his feet.

Black spots danced before his eyes as his legs gave out from underneath him, and everything faded to black. His body went limp and he toppled to the mattress, on his back.

WWW

 _Later_

Half an hour later James West entered the small and cheap hotel room, holding what he had purchased in the hardware at the end of the street: a couple of long, fat, cigars (for Artie), a box of cigarillos (for him), three dime novels and a bottle of whiskey (for both Artie and him).

He gasped in surprise and worry, and dropped everything at his feet on the threadbare carpet when he discovered Artemus sprawled on the bed, unconscious.

Then the smell of vomit reached his nostrils.

He rushed over to Artie and sat beside his body. He placed his hand on his neck and took the other man's pulse beating at top speed – then moved it to his forehead. He found it warm and wet. "Oh Artie…" He frowned and, feeling guilty he said, "I should have forced you to stay on board the Wanderer… instead of accepting that you come with me. Your bad cold has turned into flu, buddy and you're now very sick. Next time, I won't listen to you."

But Artemus was still passed out didn't reply with a single word.

WWW

 _Later_

His brow furrowed in deep concern, Jim was pressing a damp cloth on Artemus's flushed face when the older man's eyes fluttered open.

Seeing Jim above him, settled into the bed next to him, he croaked out, "Wha' zappen'd?" Then he grimaced as his rough, scratchy throat hurt. He groaned as his best friend helped him sit up – all his muscles and joints hurting and gritted his teeth as he fought off a sudden onset of vertigo.

Grabbing a dusty spare blanket Jim wrapped it then around his partner's shaking shoulders. "You passed out. I found you unconscious on the bed about ten minutes ago," he said his voice tight with worry. "You should have stayed in the train instead of coming with me! now you're very sick and stuck in bed for at least a week. You have the flu, Artie. It wasn't a bad cold you had, but the first signs of influenza." Noticing that Artie looked embarrassed, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion and added, "But you knew that, right?"

Looking at his trembling hands, rather than at his now irritated partner, Artie nodded. "Yes. I wanted to go with you. I was very worried that something would happen to you and that I would not be with you to help you, or save your life."

He broke into another set of wet coughs.

Frowning, upset, but understanding too why Artie had lied to him, he said, "I thought you and I had a deal Artie. No secrets between us, ever." He took the glass of water he had set down on the bedside table for his best friend and brought it to Artemus's pale and dry lips. "And not telling me about you being sick was a secret." He watched the other man nod and then taking a few sips of water, slowly, wincing. He softened and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Licking his lips to hydrate them, Artemus slumped limply against a couple of pillows and let out a grunt. "Oooh… I feel awful," he said blinking dazedly. His eyes being very sensitive to the light Jim had increased, he groaned and croaked out, "Jim… Dim the light please… eyes, hurt. "

Placing the now half-empty glass back on the bedside table, Jim said, "I sent the hotel clerk to fetch the local doctor; he should be here within minutes. I'm sorry for the light hurting your eyes, but it has to stay like this. The doctor will need to see you to be able to examine you."

Artemus nodded, listing in his mind the symptoms of the flu: fatigue, body aches and chills, cough, sore throat, high fever, nausea – check! Because there was always a doubt in his mind. Did he have the flu? Or had it been replaced by yellow fever after his stay in Lafayette?

Then he made another list, not related to the 'simple' flu, but to the yellow fever: rapid pulse, check. Backache, check. Aching knees, check. Eyes being sensitive to light, check, retinal migraine, check.

He buried his damp face in his hands. "Oh dear God…" He trailed off, devastated. Lowering his hands to his lap, he looked at Jim and said, his voice hoarse, "It's not the flu, Jim. It's the yellow fever. I was contaminated in Lafayette during our latest mission there, probably because I was already weakened by the flu." He let out a long sigh. "I should have stayed on board our train."

Feeling the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, Jim asked, "You sure?"

Swallowing hard, grimacing in pain, Artie nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I have all the symptoms of the yellow fever." He huddled in the dark brown blanket, a series of shivers wracking his body. "Let's hope I'm gonna stay in the 'acute' phase… and not move to the second – usually fatal – phase, called the toxic phase, if it happens, I will die like all those people in Lafayette."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Jim said, "Come in!" then he added, "I think we're going to have to stay here quarantined until you feel fine."

Two seconds later the door opened and an old man with long, white hair, dressed in black clothes and holding a black bag entered the room.

He immediately stared at Artemus noticing the sweat and fever clinging to his flushed skin, seeing him shiver and heard him cough.

He made a quick and easy first prognosis. "I'm Sam Brown, Mobile's only doctor, and you seem to have the flu, son." Then he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Raising a limp hand in a 'hello' gesture, Artie said, "Good evening, My name is Artemus Gordon… and my friend here is James West. Nice to meet you and thank you for coming so fast, especially at dinner time." Then he nearly choked as a coughing fit hit him hard.

Curious, the doctor asked, "Are you here on business?"

Shaking his head, Jim said, "No, Artemus and I just stopped there for the night. We're enroute to Birmingham, doctor."

Unbuttoning his white shirt saturated with sweat so that the physician could hear his heart with his stethoscope, he said, "I think it's worse than a simple influenza case, I'm afraid."

Dr. Brown pulled out his stethoscope from his bag, pressed his hand to his patient's forehead and asked, "What could be worse than that? Influenza can be fatal if not treated correctly." He paused and all the color had drained from his face. "Oh no… You mean the yellow fever."

Closing his teary eyes tiredly, Artie whispered, "Yes, it's the yellow fever. I have all the symptoms. Jim and I were in the south of Louisiana last week, in the Cajun territory when there was an outbreak." Reopening his eyes, he looked at his healthy best friend and offered him a weak smile. "I'm sick, he's not. Jim's never sick. He never had a single cold since I've known him. He is a force of nature."

Sam Brown eyed his patient warily and placed a thermometer between his teeth. "I had the yellow fever myself a few years ago, and had the good luck to survive it, so I can't catch it a second time. I will help you, son, but you have to stay here and your friend too, even if he doesn't look sick, _for now_. The disease could be delayed. It happens sometimes when people are more resistant to sicknesses than others. He's probably contaminated too. It's necessary to be very, very careful because the yellow fever spreads very quickly and is fatal in most cases. Symptoms typically improve within four of five days… We'll see at the end of the week how you feel. I hope you'll still be alive." He pulled the thermometer from Artemus's mouth and read the gauge with a frown. "Let's see what we got… 105 point 5. Good God!"

His face strained, panicking a bit inside, Jim said, "It's a high fever… it's dangerously high."

Curling in on himself, pain lancing up and out from his stomach and feeling miserable, Artie broke into a fit of coughing and struggled to catch his breath.

He buried his face in a pillow as his stomach lurched uncomfortably and he started breathing deeply, rapidly to avoid vomiting all over the bed, his fingers clutching weakly at the blankets.

Sam Brown stood and said, "Yes, and his fever is going to spike up." He sadly sighed and looked down at the shivering form of Artemus. "There's no cure for yellow fever, but the symptoms can be treated while your body fights off the infection. I'm going to give you painkillers to lower your temperature and of course relieve aches and pains."

Looking at Jim he placed his stethoscope and thermometer back in his black bag thinking that as soon as he returned home, or rather in the yard of his house, he would burn his bag and its contents, as well as all his clothes and then he would take a long bath after that to avoid contamination.

He recommended, "Make your friend drink a lot of water to keep him hydrated, Mr. West, force him if you have to, because he's going to vomit, a lot, and keep him warm too, wrapped in blankets even if he feels hot." Placing his hand on the door handle he added, "I'll bring you painkillers in half an hour when I come back. See you later, gentlemen." Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Once the old man was gone, Jim maneuvered Artemus into a sitting position eliciting bear-like growls. "In that position, you won't vomit again," he just said, ignoring his partner's glare.

Seing Artie relaxing as he drifted off to sleep, but taking heavy and quick breaths, he added, "Dr. Brown will bring some painkillers in a moment. You can sleep in the meantime," then he moved toward the dressing table, took the pitcher and set it on the bedside table, next to the glass.

Outside, the rain started splattering against the dirty window in dull thuds and thunder rumbled in the distance, promising a storm.

WWW

 _Later_

There was a knock at the door and Jim said, "Come in!" and smiled as he saw Sam Brown enter the hotel room, holding a brown doctor's bag. He had changed his clothes too, Jim noticed.

But his smile faded on his lips when he noticed that the physician was followed by two men wearing a silver star each and holding guns: the sheriff and his deputy. They had gloves on and scarves were covering the lower part of their faces. The upper parts were hidden under wide brimmed hats. If they had not worn insignia on their jackets, he would have mistaken them for highwaymen, he thought.

Puzzled Jim asked, "What it is doctor?"

Stepping inside, but not moving farther, the too lawmen ignored Jim and looked down at Artie sleeping, curled up under several blankets and shivering. "It's him?" The sheriff asked.

Dr. Brown nodded. "Yes, it's him, Andy," he responded, his shoulders sagging, looking guilty. Then glancing at Jim, embarrassed, he added, "My wife, very surprised to see me burn my bag and all my belongings, and all my clothes in the yard of our house, asked me why I was doing that. She thought I had suddenly gone crazy, I must say that I was naked… So I told her about your sick friend having the yellow fever and she was so scared about a mortal disease spreading around in town that she rushed straight to the sheriff's office, my best friend Andrew Garfield… I did all that, and I took a bath to avoid any contamination, of course," he explained then.

Pointing his gun at Artemus the sheriff let out, "You can't stay here! It's too dangerous for the population, but you can't leave either, as you could contaminate people in another town."

Looking up at Garfield, Jim asked, "So, what do you propose sheriff? You can't keep us here and you can't let us go." He lowered his hand toward his holster holding his beloved 45. Long Colt Single Action Army in a very visible way, to signal that he would not let the two men murder Artie and him without a fight. "Oh, I know. You're going to kill us and bury us in a deep hole…"

The sheriff tensed, his deputy too, then Garfield's eyes went cold. "I'm not a murderer, I respect the law, but I have to protect the population here, it's my duty," he said. He added then, "So I asked Sam here, who is the most intelligent man in Mobile, to find another solution that could satisfy everyone, and he did."

Hearing voices, Artie woke and struggled to sit upright in his bed. He watched Sam Brown with tired eyes. "H'lo doctor… did you bring… me… some painkillers? I could use one now, b'cause I feel like a herd of wild horses trampled me, twice," He mumbled, before coughing weakly into his sleeve.

Dr. Brown nodded. He opened his bag and pulled out a dozen small paper bags which he placed at the end of the bed. "It's a powder to dilute in water, it is very effective."

Finally noticing the armed sheriff and his armed deputy through his blurred vision, slipping in and out of focus, Artie croaked out, his voice rough and scratchy, "Whaa's happening here?"

His hand still resting in the 'Rattlesnake Grip' of his revolver, curious to hear about Sam Brown's solution, Jim asked. "So what's your solution, doctor?"

Dr. Brown sighed, visibly chagrined by his solution, "You will be alone, without medical help, because I will not be able to come with you, nor come to see you from time to time, because I am the only doctor in town, and I can't be absent. I am sorry…" He explained, "I proposed that you both be deported to Sand Island Lighthouse, until Mr. Gordon is alright, and until, if you get sick too, you are alright as well. Symptoms usually improve within four of five days. So you'll stay there for a whole week, just to be careful. Then we'll bring you back here and you can leave the town."

The sheriff nodded. "If you're still alive of course. If we find your bodies, we'll burn them there before scattering your ashes in the Atlantic Ocean."

Blinking, his mind fuzzy, Artie rasped, "And if we don't want to… end up on that island?" He had a reply when the two lawmen cocked the hammers of their Colts. He nodded. "No other choice… 'kay… I don't want to… to contaminate anyone. Neither does Jim."

Not enthusiastic at the idea but it was the only safe solution, Jim asked, "What about the keeper of the lighthouse? He's not going to be happy to have guests like us."

Sam Brown shook his head sadly. "Poor Alvin Burnett died two weeks ago, of old age. No one has taken the post yet. Several men are taking care of the lighthouse until the government appoints a replacement. But they won't go there for a week, now. You will do the job of warning ships approaching the hazardous shoals and reefs. Don't worry; it's going to be easy. The Sand Island Lighthouse is the first lighthouse in the US to use an electric light. It has a manual activation so you will have to climb to the top of the tower to turn it on and off. There's only one lever. There's a second one, in case there's bad weather, for the fog bell."

His teeth chattering, Artie mumbled, "I'm c-c-cold," crossing his arms over his chest before covering himself with the blanket.

Glancing at Artie, Jim said, "The last time I was in a lighthouse, I was prisoner there and Artemus too – it's a long story."

From beneath the blanket, Artemus added, "And hypnotized. Dr. Arcularis wanted me to kill you, and I almost did… But I didn't recall anything about it. You had to tell me the whole thing…" His vision tunneled, blackened and he passed out.

WWW

 _Much later_

 _On the rock of the Sand Island Lighthouse_

 _Keeper's house_

 _Day 1_

His eyes fluttering open, Artemus moaned and then pressed the warm palm of his hand against his clammy forehead. "Hot… so hot," he whispered.

He was looking up at the ceiling, covered with old, dusty spider-less spider webs dangling from the beams supporting the roof. "Jim?"

Entering the bedroom, a mug of coffee in his hand, Jim said, "I'm here, I was in the kitchen making coffee. Here's some for you." Sitting beside his best friend, on the edge of the small bed, he placed the steaming mug on the bedside table and then pulled the blankets up higher around his partner's shoulders. "How are you feeling buddy?"

Closing his reddened and bleary eyes, Artie grimaced in pain. His head hurt, his throat hurt, his chest hurt, his stomach hurt and his head hurt. "It hurts," He said. "I know and it's just the beginning… It's just the first phase of the yellow fever… worse's coming," he slurred. Opening his eyes again, he glanced around him and was surprised to discover that he wasn't in the hotel room anymore. "Want… to sit," he croaked.

Helping his best friend to a sitting position, Jim then piled two lumpy pillows up against Artemus's back for support. "Comfortable?"

Nodding, Artie let out a slow, tired, "Yessss it's okayyyy…" then he glanced around him, observing the small bedroom with curiosity.

It had thick yellowish stone walls and there were old, colorless rugs on the floorboards. A big fire was crackling in a fireplace beneath a solid oak mantel and a window with half-closed shutters let the daylight enter the room. He spotted a wardrobe placed on the back wall, a round cracked mirror hanging beside it, a chair and table in a corner on which was sitting a lit oil lamp. There was a second one, lit too, on the bedside table. Disoriented, he asked, "Where are we?"

Taking back the mug of hot coffee in his hand, Jim responded, "We're in the lighthouse keeper's house which is separated from the tower. We sailed from Mobile all night long and you spent that time sleeping soundly, or passed out, I don't know which. They kept us in the cargo hold until we arrived here, to be on the safe side." he placed the mug between Artemus's fingers. He continued, "There's everything we need here, I checked the kitchen." He frowned, upset. "But in the rush to send us away, they didn't bring our belongings with them; they left them at the hotel. They promised me they would take care of them and of our horses too." pointing a finger at the mug, he added, "It's not good coffee, I'm afraid. And it's hot, be careful."

Smiling weakly Artie rasped out, "Why am I not surprised?" He eyed the dark liquid in the mug dubiously, his nose wrinkling at the scent. He sniffed it, took a sip then grunted in disgust. "Gaah! I concur. It's awful!" He slowly lifted the thick beverage to his lips, took another sip and grimaced at the bitterness. "God, that's abominable! You know Jim coffee would be better with water. Think of it." He took another sip of molasses-like coffee. "I really need to be desperate for a drink to swallow this filth… " He brought the mug to his pale lips again and croaked out, "Gaah! This horrible stuff is going to kill me before the yellow fever can do it."

Paling on hearing that Jim said, "You're not going to die, Artie, I mean not before your time, in a long time, not before you're very old and you'll die in your bed, peacefully, in your sleep."

Drinking a new mouthful of awful coffee, Artie closed his eyes with fatigue. "I wish…" He reopened them, puffy and wet. "But there's little chance that I'll survive the yellow fever." He finally noticed that he was dressed only in his short, tight, black underwear – even half naked he was too hot.

Placing a comforting hand on Artie's arm Jim said, "Who are you? Where is the optimistic Artemus Gordon I know?"

Placing the now empty mug on his lap, Artie scoffed. "James my boy, I think you have us confused. You're the optimistic one, I'm the realistic one. There's a subtle difference."He was shaken by chills and let out a weary sigh. "I don't want to be burnt and my ashes scattered off the coast. After I'm dead, you must ask Colonel Richmond for a lead coffin so I can be quarantined on my way back to Washington. Then, I'll be buried in Arlington Cemetery, again, but for good this time."

Upset to hear that, Jim frowned. "You're not going to die from the yellow fever. Period," he growled. He calmed down and cringed. "But I'm afraid, you're going to hurt, badly… I forgot to pick up the painkillers in the hotel room before we were escorted from the hotel and then forced to board that sailboat at gunpoint. I'm really sorry, Artemus."

Blinking sleepily, Artie chuckled softly. "Don't be. Not your fault… was a hectic night. Okay… Then I'll be suffering in my bed… and there's not even a beautiful nurse here to take care of me… that's too bad."

Raising his hand, Jim replied, "I'm here. I'll be your nurse… but I'm not beautiful, and not curvy, and not blond, sorry."

Artie chuckled softly. "I know that, and let me tell you that if I have a preference for blondes, I like brunettes, sandy and red-haired nurses too. As for you, not 'being beautiful', well… Maybe you should ask the whole female population of the US… I bet all those women would have a different opinion on that…" Then he closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

Gently, Jim pushed Artie's dark, curly hair away from his sweaty forehead and whispered, "You won't die, Artie. I forbid it." Then he shook the older man's shoulder, saw him open his eyes half-mast and said, "Don't fall asleep buddy, you need to eat something," and heard a half-suppressed curse. Smiling he took the empty mug resting on Artie's lap, from his best friend's limp hand. "Stay awake!"

He headed toward the door and entered the small sparsely furnished kitchen ten seconds later. The galley of the Wanderer looked like a well-equipped kitchen in comparison. But fortunately it was pretty well stocked with the basics (flour, rice, oatmeal, potatoes, canned meat…) kept in a cupboard and in a mini cold room filled with ice (butter, vegetables and fish), and on a shelf there were two bottles of red wine, one of bourbon and in a corner was sitting a barrel containing a few gallons of fresh drinking water.

Opening the right cupboard of the sideboard he pulled out a battered pan and said, "Okay, let's prepare some soup for Artie, without burning it, and the whole house with it," talking to himself.

WWW

 _Later_

He came back to the bedroom a half an hour later holding a steaming bowl filled with vegetable soup where in which a table spoon was half immersed.

Once again he took his place on the bed side, next to his 'patient', then he shook Artie's shoulder. "I'm sorry to have to wake you buddy, but I brought you a bowl of soup."

Forcing his eyes open Artemus whimpered. "Lemme sleep…go 'way." He suddenly coughed violently into his balled fist, grimacing as his chest hurt.

Jim shook his head. "I can't. I'm your nurse, you have to follow my orders. I prepared a bowl of soup for you and you're going to eat it."

Half-smiling, Artie stiffened at attention and raised his hand to salute. "Yes, Sir." Then he collapsed back against the pillows and then he groaned when he inhaled the scent of the orangey soup and instantly regretted that his (crinkling) nose wasn't – temporarily – stuffy anymore. A wave of nausea started and he hiccupped. He gave the soup a disgusted glance then looked up at Jim blearily and shook his head. "Don't wanna," he said his voice croaky and he added, "Can't eat this… being sick."

Dipping the spoon into the thick liquid, Jim said, "You have to eat something if you want to be strong enough to fight that yellow fever.

Reluctantly, Artemus struggled into a sitting position then said, "You can't complain if I vomit all over you," he menaced.

Ignoring that menace, Jim lifted a spoonful of soup to his best friend's pale and cracked lips. "Okay, be a good boy and open your mouth. One for President Grant…"

Feeling offended Artie scowled. He took the soup-filled spoon and said, "I'm not a baby! I can eat soup all by myself." He ate the offered spoonful of soup, said, "not bad", then started to swallow small mouthfuls of the hot liquid. Then, he paused, and he pouted childishly, playfully. "Why is it not chicken soup? I'm so disappointed, I expected it as I'm sick."

His face serious, Jim replied, "Because there's no chicken on this island, some rabbits maybe… Do you like rabbit soup?"

He grinned. When Artie was joking, everything was fine, he thought.

Placing the still half-filled bowl of soup on his lap, Artemus said, "I can't eat any more soup… I'm full and I'm not sure to 'keep it' in my stomach…"

Taking the bowl back, Jim asked, "Try to keep it down, because you didn't eat a single thing since… well, I don't remember when."

Exhausted, his eyes drifting shut again, Artemus mumbled, "Not bad soup… very tired… sleep now… See ya." He curled into a small, shivering ball and drifted off to sleep within seconds, not hearing the thunder which growled in the distance.

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF THE MONSTROUS STORM**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 _Lighthouse Keeper's house_

 _Bedroom_

It was late at night when Artemus surfaced in time with a loud clap of thunder. A lightning bolt dashed its light across the sky and the dimly lit bedroom was flashed bright white for just a split second as the shutters were still half-closed.

He blinked trying to clear his hazy vision and it worked as he could see Jim curled up on a camp-bed, wrapped up in his blankets, one arm hanging off the cot, sound asleep.

Needing to pee – and it was an urgent matter – he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position the bed creaking, feeling as weak as a newborn kitten. Sweat and fever were clinging to his skin, his limbs were aching, his throat was dry and raw and his headache pounding.

Not wanting to wake his best friend so he could help him walk to the toilet, he mustered all the energy he could, struggling out of the blankets, and brought himself to his feet. There was a wave of dizziness following the movement but he ignored it.

He needed to pee and it was more urgent now.

He stood up on shaky legs and his cramping stomach rumbled with nausea. He gritted his teeth, took two deep breaths and it passed.

He staggered into the dim corridor lit by one oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and leaning against the wall he moved toward a door on wobbly legs.

He opened it and was instantaneously drenched by the pouring rain. "Not the toilets," he let out and moaned in contentment as his fevered skin was cooling down. "So good…"

He spotted a shrub to one side and peed there, sighing in relief and pleasure, while looking around him, the sky being lit by numerous flashes of lightning which streaked the ink-black and threatening sky. The lighthouse keeper's house was located at the foot of a big lighthouse, both erected on a rocky elevation.

The small island was surrounded by rows of sharp rocks and long sandbanks. A large beam of powerful yellowish light turned on itself regularly to warn ships of the perils of the dangerous island shoals and reefs, slicing through the stormy night.

He came back inside drenched and shaking, his teeth chattering together noisily and met Jim in the corridor. "I needed to pee," he explained nasally to his very-upset-looking partner.

Frowning, Jim closed the door and grabbed Artie's arm. "I woke up and found the bed empty, I was very worried and you should be in your bed… "

Cringing, Artie sneezed twice, winced as his sinuses were aching and whispered, "'M Sorry."

Looking at the older man soaked from head to toe, he said, "You're not going to go back to bed in that state Artie. Follow me to the bathroom." He marshalled Artemus to the small bathroom, lit the oil lamp placed on a table and pointing at a chair ordered, "Strip!" Then he took a rough towel from a shelf.

Once naked, Artemus toweled his shaking body dry and said, "I'm c-cold, so c-c-cold…" Then he sniffed and let out a loud sneeze.

Eyebrows furrowed Jim couldn't help but glare at Artie noticing in concern that his partner's body was pale, his lips slightly blue and his limbs were trembling violently.

He grunted disapprovingly and replied, "Of course you are! For someone as smart as you, it's not very intelligent to go pee outside to be soaked by sheets of rain while you are very sick. And it's cold outside too. It's January, remember? This house has a toilet you know?"

Rubbing his arms Artemus exhaled heavily, "What's the chamber pot for then?"

Jim smiled. "Very urgent needs like you know… "

Artie nodded. "Diarrhea? Don't be mad at me… My poor ol'noggin' is full of tapioca… didn't think about it and… and it was rather urgent."

Nodding, Jim draped a second towel around his best friend's shoulders and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that. But I was very worried, you know. I didn't know where you were and in what state ...Okay, now let's get back to bed buddy."

Smiling weakly, Artie rasped, "Yes mom."

Smiling too in response, Jim pulled Artie up then half-carried, half-dragged him back to his bed. "Now promise me not to leave your bed without me."

Nodding Artie repeated, "Yes mom."

Pointing at Artie's rain dripping underwear Jim added, "Take off your underwear, I need to make it dry on the back of a chair in front of the fire."

Nodding, Artie dropped his underwear onto the floor and toed them off to the side. Then, naked, he returned to the bed, burrowing back under the blankets.

WWW

 _Later_

Frowning in alarm, Jim pressed the back of his hand to Artie's forehead, feeling the heat that was radiating off of him. "Your fever has spiked," he said. He pressed a glass of cool water into his partner's shaking hand. "You need to drink, Artie."

His teeth chattering against the glass, Artemus shivered after swallowing a mouthful. "It's c-c-cold," he croaked out.

Pulling the blankets up to the other man's chin Jim nodded. "Of course it's cold. I don't want your wonderful brain to fry, Artie. The other solution is to make you take a cold bath in the ocean. You choose."

He took two small sips then pushed the glass away. "You're worse… than my mom." Then he curled up on himself, shivering.

Taking the glass back Jim said, "I take that as a compliment."

Suddenly Artemus broke off into a harsh cough. He turned away from his best friend and buried his head in the pillows, his stomach twisting and lurching. "I feel awful," he mumbled.

Then, facing Jim again, he rolled off the bed and, stark naked, his hand pressed to his mouth, he scrambled toward the bathroom, barely making it in time to lose the water he had just ingested plus the soup he had eaten before, in a not-too-clean and very smelly Turkish-style toilet.

Bracing himself against the walls to keep himself from falling forward, he heaved and retched into it until his raw throat was burning with the expelled acid bile.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and moving toward the door on wobbly legs, his knees shaking, he was hit by a wave of dizziness.

He collapsed in Jim's arm, out of breath, feeling completely drained.

Jim slipped his arms around the other man's back and gently pulled him to his feet. Then, draping a blanket around Artie's pale and shivering form, he said, "You need to get back to bed buddy and stay there. No more coming and going here. It exhausts you and you're already as weak as a newborn kitten. I'm going to bring the chamber pot to you, because I guess that you'll do what you did many times in the next hours and days – unfortunately."

Nodding, closing his eyes, Artemus breathed out, "Pot 'kay, and not smelly…", a brief spell of dizziness hit him then he was out.

WWW

 _The next morning_

 _In the keeper's bedroom_

 _Day 2_

Eyes closed, feeling lethargic, Artemus was lying on the bed, on top of the blankets, starfish-like, making small whimpering sounds.

Dressed in his underwear, he was cold and burning at the same time, he was bathed in sweat and shaking violently, shivers racking his body.

Feeling Jim sit on the edge of the creaking bed, he opened his eyes sensitive from the yellow fever and grunted at the light that filtered in through the window.

He lifted one hand to his face, hiding his sensitive eyes with it and heard the sound of wind and rain battering against the roof.

Placing the back of his hand against Artemus's hollowed and burning cheek, damp with sweat, Jim winced at the heat and asked, "How are you feeling?"

The older man gradually opened his fingers until his red-rimmed eyes could adjust. "Not so good… thirsty," he rasped and soon felt the rim of a glass against his parched lips. He took a sip. "And I'm gonna die…" He added his words heavy and thick.

Placing the glass in Artie's hand, Jim said, "No you're not." Then wringing out a cloth from the basin settled on his lap, he added, "I forbid you to die on me, buddy," and applied it to his best friend's feverish forehead. "Now drink the water Artie."

Happily complying Artemus drank down the rest of the cool water in quick gulps like a dehydrated man lost in the desert.

He moaned in contentment. "Thanks…" He croaked out. He blinked a few times, tiredly and said, "While I still can do it… I'd like to tell you… thanks for everything, Jim…" He paused and, half asleep, he mumbled. "Tell my mom that I love her…" Tears rolled onto his flushed cheeks. "She'll be devas…" His stomach churned again. He burped and coughed as he was hit by another surge of nausea rising up.

He groaned rolled on his side, gagged and expelled the water from his stomach – right on his partner's lap, splashing it.

Jim didn't even get a chance to grab the chamber pot sitting next to the bedside table.

Dropping the empty glass on the bed, Artie coughed up a mouthful of bile too, his throat sandpaper dry then flopped back onto his back, utterly exhausted. "'M Sorry…" he breathed out, his throat scratchy, strings of saliva dangling from his lips and feeling embarrassed. "'M sorry…" He repeated wiping his mouth with the back of his trembling hand.

He moaned, stomach still gurgling.

Mopping the contents of Artie's stomach from his lap with wet cloth, Jim said, "Don't be, Artie, that's nothing. I'm gonna go find new underwear and new pants."

Closing his tearful eyes, unable to keep them open any longer Artemus whispered, "Was an honor and… privilege to…" he said hoarsely, voice wavering and he passed out.

Harsh breathing sounds resounded and Jim smiled in relief. Artie was still alive.

He glanced down at his lap covered in water and bile, wrinkled his nose and sighed. He needed to change of underwear and pants but he didn't have any spare clothes.

He stood and headed toward the wardrobe hoping to find clothes inside belonging to the former lighthouse keeper.

He opened the door and discovered just what he needed.

WWW

 _Later_

Deeply worried Jim kept vigil with Artemus all day long, as the other man dozed off and on, shivering violently and murmuring unintelligible words as the fever raged through his weakened body. Artie's light sleep was also constantly interrupted by bouts of dry heaving, leaving him breathless and in tears.

It got worse at sunset.

Moaning and grunting, Artemus started thrashing on the bed, his belly hit with very painful cramps, his shoulders tensing, his back convulsing.

His breathing was ragged and sweat was pouring down his face as his fever increased. Feeling totally helpless Jim could just only mop Artie's body with a damp cloth trying to cool him down.

Until now Artie had suffered from the symptoms of the first phase of the yellow fever. It was very painful and debilitating, but not fatal. He would survive.

But that was before he realized that his best friend's strained face had a yellow tinge and that the whites of his eyes were yellowish too.

Phase two had started, he knew. Liver damage was causing the yellow skin, it was jaundice, he thought, and knew what would happen next: Artie would retch vomit containing blood and then he would bleed from the mouth, nose or eyes. It could eventually lead to shock and failure of multiple organs. This dangerous disease was quite often fatal.

Holding Artemus's hand, hot and swollen, he watched his partner suffer, anxiety draining his energy, terrified at the idea that he could die anytime.

His shoulders slumped in despair. "Oh God, no… please. Don't let him die." Then hope came back in a flash. Not all the persons affected by the yellow fever died.

People survived it, like Dr. Sam Brown for example.

He let Artemus's hand go when the older man rolled to the side of the bed, toward him, gripping his belly with both hands and he curled on himself squeezing his eyes shut.

He stood as Artie's shoulders spasmed and he gagged, vomiting acid bile and blood to the floor covered with dusty wooden slats.

He was about to fall off the bed when Jim caught him and gently moved him on his back. "Hold on, buddy, it's going to pass," he said reassuringly. He was trying to reassure himself too saying that, but didn't realize it, he was so worried.

Suddenly Artie cried out in pain pressing his both shaking hands even tighter over the cramping muscles in his belly.

He writhed on the bed again, sobbing, gasping for breath and hiccupping as the pounding in his head seemed to double within seconds.

Mercifully, the world faded to black shortly after.

He regained consciousness a few minutes later, howling in pain, his arms clutched his abdomen as a sharp cramps shot through his stomach.

He curled up on himself again and this time Jim started rubbing soothing circles on Artemus's back as the older man gagged again.

He spat a mouthful of saliva mixed with blood onto the blankets and sheets drenched in sweat, whimpering in distress. "God… please… let me die," he croaked out between two nauseous hiccups. He turned toward Jim and grabbed his wrist in a tight grip, his knuckles white. "Please kill me," he pleaded. He coughed and gurgled blood, gasping.

He let out a miserable whimper, suddenly lurched forward off the bed and let out a surge of black vomit (bile and blood) – into the chamber pot that Jim had, in a flash, placed on his lap. He couldn't help but scrunching his nose up in disgust.

He felt queasy just from the foul odor and winced at that.

Running calming fingers through Artie's sweat-soaked locks stuck up everywhere, Jim said, "Never! You're going to survive this, Artie. You're the strongest man I know."

Once he was done with vomiting, Artemus moved onto his back and Jim, horrified exhaled a shaky breath, as he could see that Artie's mouth, nose and eyes were bleeding. "Oh God, Artie…"

Looking at Jim through tears and blood blurred vision, Artemus whispered, "It"s the end of me… goodbye Jim, see you… one day… the later possible 'kay?"

Pulling out his handkerchief from his inside pocket of jacket, Jim gently mopped Artie's face and mouth. "You're not gonna die buddy."

Closing his eyes, Artie took deep breaths. "Always the optimistic one…" He slurred. Then he grunted, his face contorted in a grimace as his stomach contracted violently.

More blood rolled out of his eyes and mouth and, touching his lips, and then looking at his bloodied fingertips, the older man said, "Oh boy…" Feverish brow furrowed, he exhaled a long sigh. "I'm so exhausted that I don't have the energy to be freaking out… I hit the second phase… it's usually fatal."

Shaking his head in denial, Jim said, "Usually, yes. It's fatal for the large majority of the people affected, but some of them survive…and you will."

Groaning in pain, Artemus curled up in the fetal position, facing the wall, his both arms wrapped around his so very painful abdomen. "God that hurts…" he rasped, his voice muffled by sweat-drenched and blood-stained pillows. "I'm not going to last the night…" Then he had another fit of sharp, wracking coughs.

Nibbling his lower lip nervously, distressed, Jim said, "You will buddy, I know that. If only I could help you somehow… I hate being helpless, I hate seeing you in pain." He pressed a wet cloth to nape of the sick man's neck wiping the sweat collected there. "I'm sorry, Artie."

Suddenly Artemus went limp and Jim's heart squeezed inside his chest as he felt a surge of panic. "No!" He pressed two fingers against his best friend's neck and sighed in relief.

Pulse was still there, rapid and erratic, but still there. Artie had fallen asleep, or had passed out, he didn't know which. He was unconscious and it was a good thing.

During that time, he wasn't suffering, he thought.

He tucked the blankets up to his partner's chin, and then he stood. First things first, he had to power up the light of the lighthouse. Then he would clean the chamber pot, then search for a broom and a bucket he would fill with water to clean the floor of the bedroom.

WWW

 _Later_

Looking at the black sky through the bedroom window Jim knew a big storm was coming. It was noon and, outside, it was like it was twilight.

Pouring rain and strong winds battered the house. He could hear big waves crashing all around on the black, sharp rocks.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared down at Artemus plunged in a restless sleep now and whimpering in discomfort.

Taking his best friend's burning hand in his, he remembered the last hours in a flash: for hours his best friend had thrashed on the bed, tossed and turned, the small bed creaking with every movement he made. For hours he had convulsed, struggling to breathe, and each time he had thought Artie was going to die. But he resisted, while howling in unbearable pain. Before dawn he had muttered something incoherent for long minutes in a high, raging fever-induced delirium. His brain was cooking.

Eyes wild and unseeing, he had started speaking in various languages with the different associated accents in the same sentence, mixing foreign French, Russian, Spanish and Italian words… but it was just words jumbled together, with no meaning at all. Tears streaming from his eyes.

He reached out, desperately trying to catch things he and only he could 'see' in his delirium speaking in Polish and maybe it was related with his (Polish-born) mother he had thought.

Finally, mercifully, Artie's consciousness had slipped away again. He had seized the occasion to make a quick visit in the bathroom, peeing, washing rapidly and half-shaving, then had come back to his best friend's side - worried he could die alone. But, fortunately Artemus was still alive when he came back into the bedroom.

Moving his hand upward, Jim brushed a damp lock off of Artemus's forehead and felt a chill run down his spine as he realized that his best friend, more like an older surrogate brother looked like a corpse.

His face was more greenish than yellow now. His eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark patches, his stubbled cheeks were hollow. "Oh Artie…" He whispered.

He had just said that, ending his train of thought when Artie stirred and shifted on the bed, hair spiking in all directions and woke with a strangled gasp. "Artie?" He watched the other man look at him. His bloodshot eyes were glassy, his pupils dilated. "Artie?"

Blinking with dazed confusion the older man whispered through cracked lips from dehydration. "'M… M' not… dead?"

Smiling, Jim shook his head. "No. you're still alive." He pressed Artie's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Your fever is going to break and you'll be fine. You need water."

Nodding weakly, his breathing heavy and labored, Artie mustered enough strength to place his warm hand on Jim's knee and he rasped, "You… okay J'm?"

Smiling again Jim nodded. "Yes, I'm not sick, just a bit tired that's all." And he took the glass of water he had placed on the bedside table. He pressed to Artie's pale lips. "Small sips."

Suddenly Artie coughed as he was hit by a fit of nausea and he gurgled blood. He rolled off to the side, away from Jim and slumped to the floor before Jim could catch him. "Gonna die…" He let out between two pants of breath and mercifully he lost consciousness.

WWW

 _At night_

Jim woke and rubbed his eyes trying to figure out what had woken him up and at the sounds of someone snoring loudly, he knew.

He propped himself up on one elbow and realized that he was lying beside Artemus, on the bed. He instantly wrinkled up his nose at the acrid and sickening scent of sweat, blood and vomit coming from the other man and he couldn't help but gag.

His snoring partner covered up with soiled blankets was sleeping soundly laid on his side, a dirty pillow clutched to his chest.

He pulled himself into a sitting position and placed his palm Artie's forehead. His skin was still hot, but not burning anymore, but it was still greenish though.

He pressed two fingers against Artie's throat and felt his for his pulse. His heartbeat was a bit rapid, but he was breathing normally. He sighed in immense relief. Artemus was out of danger and on the way to recovery, he thought with a happy grin.

Eyes fluttering open, Artemus murmured, "Mom? Don' wanna go to school t'day…" Then he looked at Jim, confused. "Wanna stay at home."

Smiling Jim took Artie's hand in his, pressing it. "No, it's me, Jim. It was a dream."

It was a memory of the past.

He chuckled. "Artemus Gordon not wanting to go to school? Impossible!" He whispered. Artie lived for knowledge. But maybe was he sick when he first said that, Jim thought.

Blinking tiredly, the older man's nose crinkled in disgust. "'S stinks… 'd all sticky," He slurred. Then felt a bitter taste in his cottony mouth. "Thirsty… water, please…"

Standing, Jim said, "Don't move," then he headed toward the kitchen. He came back shortly after holding a pitcher and a dusty glass. He poured water in it and brought the glass to the other man's parched lips. "Here, take small sips. Your fever is down, but not quite broken."

Fighting a wave of dizziness, Artie managed to move into a sitting position - and every inch of his aching body protested - and complied. He sipped at the water, gingerly, and moaned in bliss as the water hydrated his throat raw from the coughing and vomiting and cooled him down too. Then he drank the rest of the water thirstily, greedily.

Then Jim set the empty glass on the bedside table.

Feeling lethargic, Artemus fixed his best friend's face. "Y' look like… hell," he said with a weak voice. Then he rubbed at his clouded eyes.

Feeling good because Artemus was going to be alright, Jim chuckled. "You should see yourself, buddy. You need a bath, you're dirty and it's going to reduce your fever too."

Managing to smile, Artemus said, "That's me, thought it was you… bath… good."

Standing, Jim said, "It's a bit Spartan here, so it's going to take me a moment to heat water on the stove to fill the tub. In the meantime you just have to take a nap, buddy. You need to rest."

Staring at the big flames moving wildly in the fireplace hearth thanks to the strong winds howling outside, Artemus slowly dozed off.

Suddenly, Jim realized that he hadn't powered up the light of the lighthouse beacon and he ran toward the door. He would activate the fog bell too.

WWW

 _Late, at night, in the bathroom_

Feeling something touch his head, Artemus woke and looked up, finding Jim standing next to him, massaging his scalp.

The smell of lemony soap filled his nostrils.

His partner had his hair wet and was wearing dark blue pajamas too big for him. The jacket and pants had holes in them left by squadrons of clothes moths. "Nice pajamas," he said. "Lighthouse keeper's?"

Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yes. The man was tall and broad and I'm swimming in them, but they're comfortable and warm, despite the holes." Then he explained, "I took a bath first when you were sleeping, then I changed the water and I put you in the tub. It's not cold water as you can see, but tepid water, so you don't get chilled, which would lead to more shivering, and which would heat up your body and raise your temperature. How are you feeling?"

Pressing the back of his hand to his hot forehead he muttered, "I've been better, but I'm still alive." Tilting his head down he noticed that he was sitting in a wooden curved tub filled with tepid water reaching to his shoulders, covered with a thin layer of soapy bubbles.

Jim grinned. "Yes you are."

Artie glanced up at his best friend again who was washing his hair. "Thanks, Jim," he just said too tired to say anything else.

Then he noticed the regular sound of a bell and he realized that Jim had activated the fog bell because of the stormy weather.

Rubbing the bar of soap on Artie's head again, lathering the dark hair a second time, Jim said, "You will smell better after that." Then he started massaging his fingers again through Artie's soaked and flat locks as he grinned in pleasure.

His best friend was out of danger now.

He would survive, live.

Enjoying Jim scrubbing at his wet and bubbly hair, Artie tucked his chin into his chest and hummed, leaning into the touch and he felt all the soreness gradually disappearing from his relaxing body. "Yes, I'm sure… lemon scent's better than vomit."

Nodding Jim said, "I need to wash your back, buddy," and watched Artie give him room and lean toward his knees. Then he began soaping up his back.

His eyelids drifting shut, Artie let a moan of pleasure escape from his lips. "Mmhmm… That feels so good…" he whispered, words heavy and thick.

Jim chuckled. "But I'm sure you'd prefer it to be a lovely nurse doing this…"

Artemus stifled a yawn and closed his eyes sleepily. "Mmhmm… " The hot bathwater was soothing his tired, aching muscles and he felt completely boneless.

He dozed off until Jim woke him with water cascading on top of his head and upper body… and enjoyed the feeling of warm water on his scalp and back.

Plunging the pitcher in the water again, collecting the steaming liquid and soap suds again to rinse the soap from Artie's hair, Jim asked, "Feels good buddy?"

Blinking sleepily, the older man nodded as warm water continued to sluice over his slumped shoulders. "Yes, good," he slurred.

His eyes crinkling, Jim's grinned and sniffed Artie's hair playfully. "You smell better," he said." Then he poured the soapy water over his partner's head.

Lifting one limp hand, Artie rubbed the suds out of his eyes and blinked a few times. "Yeah, I think so too. Smell all lemony now."

Smiling, Jim lowered the pitcher at his feet. "Better than vomit, bile and blood and sweat, believe me." Then he placed a washcloth and the bar of soap in his best friend's left hand. "Hair is done; do you think you can wash your body? Or do you want me to do it too?"

Nodding, Artie dipped the washcloth into the lukewarm water and wrung it out. "Can do it… I'm not a baby y' know…" He braced both hands on the edge of the tub; shaking with weakness and with a groan he mustered enough energy to pull himself upright, to finally stand in the tub. His head spun and his vision swam at the rapid movement. "M' okay," he said.

Bubbles started melting around his trembling knees.

Jim furrowed his brow as he realized that following his illness Artie had lost weight. He had slender hips (love handle-less) and the small padding on his stomach was gone. Focused on taking care of the older man he hadn't noticed that.

But after a few weeks of good food, the extra flesh would reappear, he thought, with a smile.

Slowly, Artemus soaped the folds of the washcloth and started to gently wipe it all over him… with Jim, in full mother-hen-mode watching him like a hawk - ready to intervene in case something happen… and unfortunately it did.

He was rinsing his weary body from the soap residue that was left on his skin when he started wobbling on unsteady legs and dropped the pitcher to the surface, splashing Jim's lap.

He swayed in place and was going down when Jim caught him in a flash before he collapsed. He grasped his best friend under his arms and gently helped Artie out of the tub before, in a flash, retrieving a not-soft towel from the rack.

He started rubbing Artie dry with it as the older man was chilled. His temperature was going down but he was still feverish, he realized.

When Jim was finished he scrunched Artie's wet hair in the towel to stop it from dripping. Then he wrapped a new dry towel around his best friend's waist in a steady grip and – as the older man staggered sideways - he helped him to walk back into the bedroom.

Once there he sat a shivering Artemus on the chair and, to his best friend who was listing to one side, he said, "Wait here, and don't fall off."

Artie let out a long sigh and sagged against the back of the chair. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his limbs as he tried not to pitch forward and collapse to the dust bunnies-covered floor slats.

In record time Jim changed everything in the bed, the sheets, the blankets and the pillows he found in the wardrobe.

Blinking tiredly, arms hugging his bare chest, and shivering even harder than before, Artie said, "C-cold, want to sleep,"

He scrubbed his hands over his face, very tempted to curl up on one of the rugs.

Jim nodded, "I know buddy, I know." He put Artie's arm around his shoulders and heaved him to his feet and helped him to slip on a pair of plain black pajamas, which had been ravaged by a swarm of clothes moths too, which were warm and comfortable despite the holes. Then put him in bed.

His eyes half-closed Artie watched Jim tucking in the blankets in a daze, exhaustion clouding his mind. "Thanks mom, thank you for everything… 'night," he whispered, all of his muscles starting to relax. He settled his still slightly damp head deeper on the pillow, his breathing evened out and he drifted sleep.

Smiling, Jim stared at the man fast asleep next to him for a while and took a deep, contented, breath. "You're going to be alright, Artie."

Still smiling, he headed toward his camp bed, yawning.

WWW

 _The next morning_

 _Day 3_

Oatmeal.

Blinking his eyes open, Artemus heard his stomach growl reacting to the smell of warm oat meal and he propped himself on his forearms.

It reminded him too that he hadn't eaten something for a long time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim said, "I knew that it would wake you up," then he placed the bowl of oat meal he had in one hand on the bedside table. Then he sunk the table spoon he was holding in his other hand in the plain rolled oats, cooked in a little milk with brown sugar on top. "I did my best to make this, and as I already ate a bowl of it, I know, it's good."

Grunting, Artemus sat up, slowly and groggily. "I'm so famished I could eat anything." His back resting against the pillows and headboard he reached out to take his steaming breakfast. "Thanks, Jim. It smells wonderful." And he licked his lips.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim replied, "My pleasure."

Stirring the brown sugar into the oatmeal, Artie said, "Let's hope my stomach is not going to reject this…" Scooping a spoonful of oatmeal, he watched Jim settle the always present chamber pot on his lap. "Good idea!" He opened his mouth, chewed slowly and swallowed the creamy sugared cereal, while a look of pure pleasure filled his face. "Oh God…" Then he winced as his raw throat hurt.

Immediately Jim chuckled. "That good? It's the first time I saw you loving something I cooked," he said with amusement.

Smiling too, Artie dipped his wooden spoon into his bowl again and scooped out another spoonful of the perfect oatmeal. "I know, but there's a first time for everything." Then he ate the oatmeal slowly, cautiously as swallowing it burnt his throat.

He touched Artie's brow and smiled in relief. His fever was almost gone. "You're still a bit feverish, but soon the fever will disappear. It's nothing compared to before. That bath did is job – you're clean, you smell good and it has cooled you down. You're going to be alright Artie." Hearing rain pelleting and lashing against the window, he added, "There's a storm coming. But we're safe here. The house is solid."

The older man ate everything then set the empty bowl aside, on the bed. He suddenly heard his stomach emit gurgling noises and grimaced as he felt painful cramps colonizing his abdomen. "No… no-no-no!" and he started shaking. He took deep breaths, in, out, trying not to vomit his oatmeal. But it was useless. He paled. "No, no, no…" He repeated. He left the creaking bed in a flash and, his mouth clamped tightly shut, he bolted for the bathroom.

Once in the Spartan toilet, the sickening smell there was enough to start the whole thing. He doubled over, both arms wrapped around his stomach and with an uncontrollable heave forward, he painfully vomited up everything, his eyes watering.

He retched again, coughing up bile this time.

He left the room on shaky legs, soaked in sweat, the muscles in his abdomen aching and his throat stinging. Tears were still running down his face.

He slumped on the bed, his stomach twisting painfully, feeling limp, drained. "'M' sorry J'm;" he said looking up at his partner who was standing beside the bedside table, frowning in concern. "I'll be fine… was too early to eat something I suppose… need to wait for a while." He let out a pained moan and curled back in upon himself. "Oh God… I don't want to be sick again…"

Sitting again on the edge of the bed, Jim had just time to grab the empty chamber pot and shove it into Artie's hands before his best friend filled it with new wave of vomit followed by spurts of bile.

Feeling like as if he was dying, Artemus stretched out on his back, trembling, gasping for breath. His face was greenish, his eyes bloodshot and his hair were drenched with sweat.

Placing the bile-filled bowl of white porcelain to the floor, wrinkling his nose at the smell, Jim said, "You're still sick buddy, but the worst of it is behind you." He placed a hand on Artemus's burning forehead, noticing the other man's eyes which were glazed and unfocused and added, "Your fever's back."

Massaging his noisy and spasming stomach with his hand, Artemus rasped, "It's not over yet… " He closed his eyes, his body slackening, "Need… sleep,' he whispered and went limp.

He slept like the dead for 24 hours.

WWW

 _24 hours later, in the morning_

 _Day 4_

Groggy, confused and disoriented Artemus pushed himself into a sitting position. Resting against the headboard he looked around him, wondering where he was and why he felt so bad and it took 10 seconds until he could remember where he was and why and that he was sick.

He flinched at the loud thunderclap that followed a bolt of lightning, painting the room in bright white for a split second.

He was alone in the bedroom. "Jim? Jim?" he called. He paused then he called his best friend a second time, louder, "Jim?" still no response.

Worried, he maneuvered himself off the bed, stood and his legs feeling as if they were made of soaked cotton, he headed toward the door.

He searched for Jim in the house, didn't find him and realized that he had probably gone to the lighthouse to turn off the beacon and the fog bell.

He opened the door and a sudden gust of violent and damp wind rushed into the corridor and nearly knocked him off-balance.

Grabbing the doorjamb he stepped outside – stunned. The sky was heavy and menacing. Enormous, apocalyptic-dark-gray clouds were swirling in the sky at full speed and lighting filled it each couple of seconds. The combined noise of the thunder growling, of the wind howling around the lighthouse and around the house, of the demented sea pounding the shore and the sound of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks sending frothy spray shooting upwards and over the edge was enormous.

Cold, he shivered and rubbed his arms to warm himself up, while thinking that it wasn't a simple thunderstorm which was raging on, but a hurricane. And it was very late! The hurricane season followed by specialists since records began in 1851 stretched from the beginning of June and the end of November. However, as shown by the 'present' hurricane the formation of such powerful storms was possible at other times of the year.

He sighed. "Just great!"

Suddenly there was a huge flash of lightning and he was startled at the deafening BOOM that accompanied it rattling the windows and doors and even the ground behind his feet shook. "Oh my!" he let out. The lightning bolt had just fallen somewhere amid the high waves, not far away.

He instinctively moved back, reentering the corridor and spotted a group of seagulls tightly nestled against each other between rocks and the foot of the lighthouse, almost protected there; bracing for impact.

Speaking of lighthouse… he looked up and watched the rotating light beam pierce the not-quite-but-close twilight and disappear among the low and dark ominous clouds. Those clouds began to pour rain on the high waves… and soon, masses of water, under the effect of the strong whirling winds, joined to form a pair of high and thin tornadoes.

The tempestuous winds picked up speed and there was a loud clap of thunder again. Louder. Lightning flashed in a relentless way across the rapidly darkening sky.

He suppressed a curse as a violent burst of wind loaded with rain soaked him from head to toes in a matter of seconds.

He heard a loud crack and on his left saw a tree break in two as if it was a simple twig.

The others pines were bending so much that they touched the ground, and stray branches flew aimlessly in every direction, whirling in the sky. A second tree broke a split second later and this time was shredded to pieces. Some of them flew toward the house and various debris smashed the windows of the small living room, sending glass flying everywhere.

Panic surging through him Artemus's survival instinct kicked in, urging him to leave the house at once to find a safer place.

He did that, running at top speed toward the door of the lighthouse, head ducked wincing as the rain pelted him unmercifully – as the lighthouse more solid than the house wouldn't be able to resist the raging storm and coming water tornadoes, he thought. He slipped, lost his footing and stumbled a couple of times on his way, being shoved off-balance by powerful gusts of winds.

Soaked to the skin by the lashing rain, he finally reached the big, red-painted door a few minutes later opened it and entered the bottom of the lighthouse.

Pressing with all his weight and meagre forces, he managed to close the door as the whirling winds slammed against it.

He leaned against the big door, exhausted, panting and shivering with cold. He sighed in relief. Here he was protected from the harsh weather.

He shook his head sending droplets flying in all directions then looked around him. He heard a door closing and as the interior of the lighthouse was dimly lit he saw a dark silhouette on the landing of the first floor. "Jim! There's a hurricane heading here!" He said, and then he sneezed.

He heard an amused cackle… and froze, recognizing it immediately. Only one man cackled that way… Miguelito Loveless!

He instinctively lowered his hand to his right side… but only touched the fabric of his soaked pajamas pants stuck to his now icy skin covered with goosebumps.

He was ready to open the door to run to the house to retrieve his gun and froze realizing that his Colt like all his belongings were at the Silver Star hotel in Mobile. He gasped in surprise when he noticed a very tall and large shadow closing on him.

His raised his fists threateningly knowing that it was Voltaire – and knowing that he didn't have a chance against the giant, but did it nonetheless, he had to defend himself! - but he didn't see the punch that reached his face and, seeing stars, he hit the wall, hard.

Darkness enveloped him and he was out before hitting the floor.

Miguelito Loveless joined his body guard and manservant and looked down at Artemus's prone form, laid on the stone floor, at Voltaire's feet.

There was a bright flash of lightning and the loud boom of thunder and the diminutive man said, "It's such a small world!" And he grinned coldly.

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE MONSTROUS STORM**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _In the basement of the lighthouse, later_

Dr. Miguelito Quixote Loveless approached the two secret agents each bound hand and foot on chairs, side by side. "I had the intention to stay hidden here… but it's over now." He rubbed his chin pensively. "What I am going to do with you?"

Suddenly a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the circular room coming through a small barred window – illuminating a well-equipped laboratory. Four tables were covered with test tubes, glass alcohol burners, tripods, pipettes, etc.

Seconds later, there was another loud exploding sound.

Hard rain drummed on the cloudy windows and gusts of strong wind slapped against it relentlessly. Powerful winds were howling even louder than before.

Glaring at the diminutive man, Artie rasped, "Release us. I'm sure that we can live as good neighbors while the storm passes; then, Jim and I will arrest you. What do you think?" and it was immediately followed by a long and wet coughing fit.

Loveless smiled. "You're such a wit, Mr. Gordon."

Frowning in worry, Jim glanced at his still sick partner wincing in sympathy at a nasty bruise beginning to form under his right eye. "You okay Artie?"

Shivering with cold in his soaked pajamas, barefoot on the equally cold stony floor, Artie nodded. "Yes… 'm okay," he said.

Spotting a big glass tank filled with greenish water, green plants and green frogs, Artie asked, "Unusual pets you have there Doctor…"

Moving closer to his older prisoner, Loveless realized that Artie looked like a ghost. "They're not pets… but part of a project of mine." He quickly observed the older Secret Service agent and said, "You seem to have influenza, Mr. Gordon."

Feeling sweat beading on his forehead, Artie said, "I'm still reeling from the effects of the yellow fever," then smiled when he saw Loveless open his eyes in fear.

Placating his hand on his nose and face to avoid being contaminated, Loveless moved back prudently. "And you should have died…" He said, amazed.

Bowing his head, Artemus replied, "It's usually fatal, yes. Usually, it means not all the time. Some people survive. I'm sorry to disappoint you. It just would have been such an ordinary way for me to go out." He sighed and added. "That's why the population of Mobile exiled us here… " He paused, keeping from him that a boat was coming there to pick up Jim and him in 3 days now – and they would leave the island but they had to escape from Loveless's 'dungeon' before that. He added, "They didn't want me to contaminate people there. As for Jim he is as healthy as a horse. He's never sick, always in tip-top condition."

He glanced at Jim and winked at him – and Jim imitated him. The younger man had noticed that he hadn't mentioned the boat.

Loveless moved back again and said, "I'm not surprised, Mr. West is so perfect!" and his blue eyes lit with a glint of jealousy and envy.

Smiling, Jim let out, "Blame mother nature, Doctor, not me. I'm not responsible for that." Glancing around him, he asked, "So this is your new hideout?"

Miguelito Loveless sat behind a table covered with vast chemist equipment. "Yes, I thought it would be the perfect place to flee the yellow fever plaguing the south coast and to have the tranquility I needed to do my research. I didn't live in the keeper's house though. It was too Spartan for my taste. I re-decorated the second floor to make the place comfortable and transformed the basement into a lab, as you can see. I was very surprised to see you settle in the house… And as I didn't want you sticking your nose into what I'm doing, I asked Voltaire to keep an eye on you, and we stayed very discreet every time you came here to activate or deactivate the beacon and the fog bell. But…"

Interrupting Loveless, Jim said, "But, at dawn I spotted a ray of light under the door of your 'apartment' and as the door wasn't locked…"

Looking up at Voltaire, upset, Loveless added, "Voltaire told me you were coming, but he forgot to turn the light off and to lock the door…"

Continuing, Jim said, "I was intrigued by the locked door…. And the ray of light I could see under the door. I entered and found you sitting at a table, dining with Voltaire standing at your side… and he quickly neutralized me." And he touched his aching black eye.

Loveless stared at Artemus who had closed his eyes, had pained lines on his sweat covered forehead and was panting. He could see he was shaking too. "But that disease followed me here…"

Suddenly, outside there was a large crash that somehow rose above the roaring wind and pouring rain splattering the lighthouse.

Frowning Jim said, "That wasn't thunder…"

Looking up at Voltaire standing next to him ready to obey any of his orders, he added, "No. It would see that the lighthouse's keeper house is gone…" He had a cold smile. "Speaking of gone, Voltaire, I don't want to catch the yellow fever. Then I think it's time for Mr. Gordon to breathe some fresh air outside… He's so pale. He has to get out of here."

Blinking in surprise, then all color draining from his face in alarm, Jim shook his head. "No! No! You can't do that! There's a tempest outside! And look at him! His skin is pale, not yellow! He's not contagious anymore! He's not sick anymore, it's over!"

Grinning like a shark, Voltaire untied Artemus in less than a minute and chuckled when the 'little man' tried to push him away.

Miguelito Loveless smiled predator-like. "It's not a simple tempest, it's a hurricane." He paused and lifted his eye toward the ceiling as the hurricane was directly overhead now and the pounding cacophonous. Then, looking at Jim again, he raised his voice and said, "I didn't know how to get rid of Mr. Gordon, I've just found a way to. The solution is simple, no Mr. Gordon, no yellow fever."

Panicking Jim repeated, "He's not contagious anymore!" but it served nothing. Loveless was scared to be contaminated and nothing could change his mind, he thought.

Standing, Artie punched Voltaire's chest with all he had and the giant hit him back, crashing his fist on the top his head.

Loveless cackled in glee.

Moaning, Artemus sank to his knees, seeing stars in front of his eyes. Then blackness invaded his vision and he lost consciousness.

Gritting his teeth, Jim tried to break free but he was too well bound and immobilized.

Like Artie weighed like nothing to him, Voltaire hoisted him on his large shoulder and headed toward the door leading to the stairs then to the bottom of the lighthouse.

It was hard even for Voltaire to open the door as strong winds and rain were battering it… but he managed to do it and took a couple of steps into total chaos. Then he dropped a barely conscious Artemus in a large puddle of rain and then, in a hurry he retreated into the lighthouse amid flying devastation.

Opening his eyes a few minutes later, Artie panicked immediately as he realized he was outside and he instinctively stood to take shelter. But he realized it was a very bad idea and possibly a deadly one when he found himself being propelled against what was left of a pine: half of its trunk. Then gusts of powerful stormy winds sent him flying farther and he found himself being pushed toward the shore, where furious waters crashed against the craggy rocks covered with layers of foam.

He tried to grab anything not to end up crushed against them, tufts of grass, large pebbles, roots, various debris... but it was futile.

Driven against his will by the hurricane violent winds, he slid on the damp grass of the shore and was shoved in a large pool of shallow seawater.

He surfaced just to see a broken beam that belonged to the house being hurled straight at him. He didn't have time to react of be afraid before the large piece of wood landed on top of him, pinning him to the sandy bottom of the pool. There was a 'crack' sound when his left leg was shattered. He let out a truly agonized cry and the world around him faded to black.

There was another flash of light accompanied by thunder.

WWW

Artemus regained consciousness one minute or so later, underwater and swallowed water. He immediately raised his head to be able to breathe.

Spitting water, eyes burning with salt, he looked around him, disoriented and confused, and then he cried out as pain hit with a vengeance and he remembered everything.

Propped on his elbows Artie spotted the broken beam across his left leg, beneath his knee, pinning him to sandy ground.

He tried to push the large piece of wood away from his broken leg but it was impossible. It was too heavy and he far too weak.

He was suddenly submerged by huge waves filling the pool and found himself underwater again and fought against the currents.

Suddenly he felt the weight on his injured leg vanish as the broken beam was swept away by a powerful wave and he half-crawled half swam toward the shore with grunts of pain and exhaustion.

He lay there, breathing hard, exposed to the pummeling rain, manhandled by the tempestuous winds, with his body regularly hit and covered by brutal waves.

Mustering his last strength he dragged his body along the soaked ground toward a cluster of broken trunks and intermingled branches and snuggled in there.

More or less protected from the hurricane, he relaxed a little, then he passed out, face in the wet and algae- covered sand.

WWW

 _In Loveless's lab_

Sitting in front of his captive, on a comfortable armchair, Loveless smiled as the hurricane was assaulting the solid lighthouse. "Mr. Gordon is dead by now. He was probably hurled into the ocean by the violent winds where he drowned."

Still trying to get rid of the ropes immobilizing him on the chair, Jim replied, "He'll survive the hurricane as he survived the yellow fever and many other ordeals before that. He'll be alright, I know. Artemus is a survivor. He's indestructible!"

Sipping a little of Manzanilla Pasada sherry in a crystal glass, the little man waved a finger. Then he said, "Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! No one is indestructible, Mr. West, even your precious partner. He's just a man." He joined the fingertips of his hands, immersed in his reflections and after 30 seconds, he added, "I came in New Orleans to work on a toxin from a frog living in the bayous."

Frowning in alarm, Jim glanced at the glass tank containing the green frogs and then asked, "What do you want to do with that?"

Loveless chuckled. "The toxin? Kill dozens of people, of course, to start with, as an example of what I can do with it. Then after a while I will offer an antidote to that toxin to the Government against money, against tons of gold to be precise. President Grant won't refuse." He paused and took a second sip of his fortified wine. "I managed to produce a sample of this toxin but not one of the antidote, yet ... and I was going to test my toxin on human guinea pigs when I had to leave in a hurry because of yellow fever. I came here to be safe, as I heard it was inhabited, and it was the perfect place for me to continue my research too… which will be completed, soon. And I will test my toxin on you, Mr. West. I'm sure you appreciate that honor."

Stopping what he was doing – freeing himself was impossible - Jim sighed. "I don't."

Miguelito Loveless nodded. "You should. You will be the first man on Earth to die from that toxin for a long, long time. The Akatapa warriors used it to kill their enemies. The Atakapa people live in the Southeastern Woodlands, along the Gulf of Mexico. Atakapa is the name by which the Choctaw people refer to them, meaning "man eater"…" He stood and moving beside Jim, he said, "This time, you and your deceased partner won't stop me, Mr. West."

Sending Loveless a defiant gaze, Jim replied, "Never say never."

There was another flash of lightning outside followed closely by booming thunder.

WWW

 _Outside, on the shore_

It was the beginning of the afternoon, but it looked like it was dusk. The sky was a compact mass of dark gray billowing clouds.

Artemus regained consciousness as a rumble of thunder crashed down nearby under torrential downpour. - But regretted he did. Intense pain shot up his left leg.

He held back from screaming, clenching it between his gritted teeth as the pain in his left leg pounded. But tears slipped down his cheeks.

His whole body shaking with shock, he slowly, gingerly moved onto his good side, then maneuvered himself on his back.

Looking down, he saw a rip in his soaked left pants leg where the broken beam had hit him and a large stain of dark blood. He probably had a fracture of his shin, or fractures plural, plus a serious wound, at the point of impact, he thought.

His jaw tightened as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, the pain in his broken leg protesting but not stopping him.

Facing the irate ocean, he watched the waves getting bigger and bigger with each passing second, jumping above the barrier of rocks and progressively moving upward.

He had water level with his knees now. He knew he had to leave if he wanted to stay alive. The shore would be soon completely submerged and him too.

He couldn't stand. But he could crawl toward what was left of the lighthouse keeper's house and wait there for the hurricane to ease up.

He started to crawl away from the cluster of broken trunks and intermingled branches, grounding his teeth in agony with every movement he made, heading to a gentle slope. Hurricane winds kept pushing him backward, but jaw tightened, he continued to move forward, inch by inch.

The rain came down heavier pounding down on him.

WWW

 _In Loveless's lab_

Miguelito Loveless and Voltaire left the lab, the giant closing the door behind him, leaving Jim alone, tied to the chair, sick with worry.

The Secret Service agent tried again to free himself from the tight ropes binding him. He had to leave the lighthouse to find his partner, to save him.

Because Artie was in grave danger, but not dead. He would know it if he was, somewhere in his heart. They were close, like brothers.

He glanced at his boots equipped with a concealed blade, but they were on a table out of reach, like the rest of his clothes.

Loveless had left him in his underwear depriving him of all his very useful gadgets.

His belt hid fuses and he had a piece of malleable explosive hidden in the buckle, but it was impossible to get to them. Unless… and an idea appeared in his mind.

It was very, very dangerous idea, but it was his sole idea.

After three attempts he managed to stand, and in precarious equilibrium, he slowly moved toward the table where diverse phials containing colored liquids were warmed by alcohol burners linked to some kind of tank containing a flammable gas.

With the chair on his back, he hit the table once, twice, and at the third try, two of the alcohol burners fell on to table…

He hit the table again and they fell to the stone floor… right next to a carpet. The alcohol made a puddle, the puddle reached the carpet and the flames lit the carpet.

In a matter of seconds flames devoured the carpet, attacking the table too.

Satisfied, Jim went back to where he was, as if he hadn't moved an inch and cried out, "Fire! Fire! FIRE!" at the top of his lungs, and stared at the door, hoping it would open soon, before he ended up asphyxiated by the dark, billowing smoke, smoke which was spreading across the ceiling in the room.

Lethal smoke and flames had almost half-filled the room, when Loveless and Voltaire appeared. The diminutive man looked around him, seeing smoke and nothing else. "Find West and bring him outside!" He commanded to Voltaire, through gritted teeth. He was absolutely furious, mad. "I hope he's not dead, because I'm going to kill him myself! He did this! I'm sure!" Then he slammed the door shut.

Immediately the giant moved blindly through the thick plumes of black smoke, trying to locate West while hearing his coughing fits, and after a moment he found the prisoner, still tied up to the chair. He broke the rope with no effort and helped the other man to stand.

Coughing, his eyes and throat burning, the heat, making him sweat, Jim seized the occasion to hit Voltaire with his knee, right in his private parts.

He was already heading toward the door when he heard Voltaire groan in pain. He somehow managed to find the door and opened it.

He pushed Loveless waiting in the small entrance, against the wall, not interested in him – for now – and rushed toward the front door of the lighthouse.

He opened it and stepped into the raging storm, gooseflesh rising on his exposed skin as strong winds were swirling and gusting around him. Thunder clapped loudly overhead, lightning streaked across the stone-gray sky, filling the horizon with flashes of blinding white and hard rain poured non-stop from the whirling clouds.

He was soaked within seconds and suddenly the strong winds sent him toppling onto his side and he found himself pinned to the waterlogged ground and had to crawl toward the house, in order to avoid being blown away in the hurricane-filled sky.

He had to find Artie before it was too late to save him. But not knowing where he was, he decided to crawl all around the island. But it would take some time, he realized. 'Go to the highest point of the island, you'll see everything from there', he thought.

He crawled on all fours for half an hour and reached the highest point of the island, opposite to the lighthouse keeper's house where the big lighthouse built on top of a cliff was towering over the demented ocean.

He spotted a small fishing boat with a white hull and a red sail, that probably belonged to the lighthouse keeper, anchored in the middle of a small cove, protected from the winds by high, black rocks, and swept like a straw by big, but not monstrous waves, and it was still intact.

It was another way to leave the island in case the boat from Mobile didn't come – being destroyed like dozens and dozens of other boats by the hurricane, he mused.

He stood and leaning against a rock, pinned to it by the strong winds he looked around him hoping to locate his partner.

Another crack of thunder boomed.

WWW

Grunting in pain, Artemus was pulling himself forward with his elbows, limply dragging along his broken leg, hurting with each movement, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He was heading toward what was left of the lighthouse keeper's house when he spotted Jim doing the same thing, a few yards away.

There was a series of flat rocks between them and Jim couldn't see him.

He propped himself on his scratched good knee, waved his arms and cried out, "Jiiiimmmm!" Then black spots appeared in his vision, and, exhausted, he slumped in the mud.

He almost passed out.

Despite the deafening noise, Jim heard his name being called and moving precariously on all fours he looked around him and located Artemus not so far from him.

He smiled broadly his heart beating with joy in his chest. "Artie!" he let out before bursting out laughing, feeling overjoyed. "I knew you weren't dead."

He was tempted to stand and run toward his best friend, but it wasn't a good idea, so he lowered himself to the ground and crawled again.

He reached Artie about ten minutes later and noticing how exhausted the older man was, he grabbed his hand and helped him to move toward the ruined house.

Finally, the two men huddled in what was left of the small living room, protected from the howling winds by almost intact walls and from the pouring rain by a piece of the torn roof.

Pointing at his throbbing leg, Artie rasped, "I was hit by a broken beam from the roof… My leg is in a bad shape and there's an opened wound…"

Nodding, Jim got hold of his partner's left pajama pant leg, rain and blood soaked and ripped it. His stomach twisted at the sight of the bad-looking bleeding wound. The lower part of the left leg was a mess. It was badly bruised and swollen to twice its normal size, already turning purple. A huge gash went from the knee to the ankle. Parts of the shin looked shattered beneath the raw skin … But fortunately there was no bone sticking out, he thought. "Oh!" he just said and paled.

Shivering with cold and exhaustion Artie sighed. "Yeah… not a pretty sight. I'm not going to be able to dance for a while." Then he shook his dripping hair like a dog.

Deeply worried that Artemus could lose his left leg, Jim said, "You can't stay like this Artie."

Closing his eyes, the older man sighed. "There's only one doctor here… and he tried to kill me. So I will pass, thanks."

Furrowing his brow, Jim nodded. "I know, but only Loveless can save your leg Artie. We'll find a way to neutralize them before they kill us both. In the meantime, he'll take care of you." He stood and added, "I'm going to go back to the lighthouse to ask Voltaire's help…"

Feeling a threat on his back, he whirled around as thunder rang out overhead… to face the giant, dressed in drenched black clothes, smiling like a shark.

He was holding a gun.

WWW

 _Later, in the first floor of the lighthouse_

Like a big, black, vulture observing a future prey, Voltaire was standing beside Artemus towering over the secret agent lying on a cot, in his underwear, unconscious. He was ready to terminate the wounded man anytime. His master had just to give him the order.

It would be so easy and so pleasurable… he thought.

But for now, Dr. Loveless was sitting on a chair next to Artemus, pressing two fingers against his neck feeling for a pulse.

He wrinkled his nose. The smell of burning was still lingering in the air.

Miguelito Loveless nodded. The pulse was faint but it was there and the other man's face wasn't jaundiced. "You were right, he's not contagious anymore. But he's very weak and his injuries are severe. His wound is infected and the shin broken in two places," He said to Jim sitting at the end of the camp-bed, biting his lower lip nervously.

Holding a cloth on Artie wound, Jim was trying to stop the bleeding. "And he's weakening because of the blood loss," he added. "Save him, please."

Crossing his arms on his chest, the diminutive man asked, "Why should I save him when I want to kill him? Give me a good reason."

Looking at Artie's sweaty, ghostly face, Jim replied, "Precisely because, you want to kill him. You, not an infected wound which would spoil your pleasure. Same thing with me."

Narrowing his eyes Loveless nodded. "That's a good reason, but you hope too, to be able to escape Mr. Gordon and you."

Smiling, Jim nodded too. "Of course. It is the duty of every prisoner to try to escape."

Loveless grinned like a crocodile. "But you won't, believe me. You won't be able to escape from this island, it's impossible…"

Still smiling Jim said, "Nothing's impossible." And he removed the blood-stained cloth when Loveless approached his hand gloved.

Opening the bag filled with field medical care items sitting at his feet, Dr. Loveless said, "It's a good thing I always travel with my 'doctor's bag', just in case something happens." He placed his hand on the ragged gash and, even unconscious, Artie immediately jerked away letting out a hiss.

Ignoring it, using his palm, he pressed on it sharply to force the bones back where they belonged. "I need to reset the bone," he explained.

Artemus regained consciousness and cried out in pain. Then he screamed in agony as Loveless guided the three pieces of the bone back into alignment.

Pressing on Artie's shoulders to pin him to the cot, immobilizing him, Jim said, "Don't worry buddy, you're going to be okay!" And he took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions as his partner was sobbing, his breaths coming shaky. "Calm down Artie, please…"

But Artie took a sharp inhale biting his lip. "I'm trying!" He looked daggers at Loveless. "Did you ever hear of painkillers?"

Loveless nodded. "Yes, I have." Then Loveless pressed on Artie's purple and swollen leg. "There's a lot of pus inside the inflamed area, and I need to drain it before cleaning the wound." He fished for a scalpel in his bag and cut the leg where it was inflamed. Then he pressed firmly on the skin, a dozen of times, making the yellow pus leave the abscesses and ooze out of the leg.

Artie – a little green – was breathing out in short gasps.

Once the pus was gone, Loveless liberally poured alcohol on the older agent's wound and cuts and then rubbed them, cleaning them out. "I need to disinfect them," he said.

Clutching the side of the cot with trembling hands, Artie groaned in agony. He had his mouth clamped shut, and his eyes were screwed up.

Jim immediately glared at the little man. "You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

Feeling a bit dizzy, grimacing in pain, Artie took a slow breath and rasped, "That hurts! What about the doctors first do no harm oath?"

Loveless chuckled. "It doesn't apply to enemies, Mr. Gordon. And stop being a crying baby! The double fracture is a neat break and the bone didn't break from the skin. Now don't move, keep quiet and let me treat your leg in peace."

Sending a black look Loveless's way, tears trickling down his face, Artie added, "And you have a detestable bedside manner."

Loveless nodded. "Yes, I have. Don't tell me you're surprised?"

His face now ashen and sweaty, breathing shakily Artie groaned when the little man pressed a clean cloth on his pulsating deep laceration. "You're a torturer!"

Loveless chuckled. "Thanks for the compliment." Observing the now cleaned wound, he said, "It will need stiches to close the wound." He took out a small sewing kit from the bag, opened it and pulled out a needle and a spool of thread. "As the area around the wound is highly sensitive, it's going to hurt," he said with a grin threading the curved needle with gloved fingers. He pressed his fingers against the skin around the wound. "it should hurt less now, right?"

Still glowering at Loveless, Artie shifted slightly and nodded. "Yes, it still hurts but it's dull."

Dr. Loveless smiled. "Good!" Then he pierced the skin with the sharp needle and started stitching the skin together while Artemus did his best to stay perfectly still, jaw clenched.

He tied the threads together then placed the needle back down on the bag. After that he rubbed alcohol into the stitches then covered it with a bandage. He secured it with a long piece of cloth. "All done." He said, placing the sewing kit back in the bag. He removed his cotton gloves stained with blood and pus and then dropped them to the dusty floor. "Well, the good news is that you won't die from an infection followed by gangrene, the bad news, is that you're going to die from a new toxin I developed." He smiled and added, "I gave you a few hours of reprieve, until I fabricate the antidote. But I won't test that on you – because I want you dead - but I will on someone else, later."

Frowning, Artie crossed his arms on his chest and just said, "Swell!"

Loveless chuckled. "I knew you would appreciate it." Then taking the two pieces of wood he had placed at the end of the cot, he placed them on each side of the broken shin and then, using bands of cloth, he tied them tightly around the splints. "Finished!" He stood and took the lantern that was sitting on a small table. "No fire for you," he added, sending up a black look to Jim. Then he headed toward the door, followed by the black-clad giant. Once on the landing, he turned around, looking at the two agents and said, "I can't wait to see the effects of this toxin on you. See you later, gentlemen."

Showing his teeth menacingly, Voltaire closed and locked the door, the sound being covered by a resounding crack of thunder.

Blackness.

WWW

 _Later_

Hissing, Artemus rose up on his elbows. Leaning against the wall, a pillow at his back, he glanced at his bandaged leg. Even if he couldn't see it.

It felt like it was continuously being stabbed with needles. "We have to leave this place before Loveless uses us as guinea pigs for his toxin."

Standing next to the door, Jim nodded. "I agree, but I don't know – yet – how to escape." He glanced at his companion and thanks to a flash of lighting, saw him for a brief second. "Do you?"

Smiling, Artemus pointed at the elastic and waterproof waistband of his black form-fitting underwear ending above his knees. "I never go out without explosives, fuses and matches. My passion for explosives started when I was a boy. I loved fireworks and my dad helped me to make them. My favorite day was the 4th of July." Then, he pulled on the elastic band, ripping the seam and pulled out a piece of modeling-clay-like explosive, three fuses and three matches. "And voilà!"

Smiling too, moving toward his partner, lit from time to time by bright white lights, Jim said, "God bless your passion for explosives!" Then he pouted in mock jealousy. "Maybe you should hide weapons in my underwear too, because I'm jealous. I don't have that."

Artie smiled in the dark. "I already filled your favorite jacket, the blue one with a collection of very useful gadgets of my invention Jim… Okay, I'll see what I can do." And he placed the items in Jim's hand.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed. "We can get rid of the doors so as to leave the lighthouse, but what about Voltaire? Getting rid of him won't be easy. That man is like a wall of muscles."

Rubbing his stubbled chin Artie replied, "Hmm. I don't know about Voltaire but I know that my next invention will be flat-shaped mini knock-out gas-bombs I could hide in any waistband." Then he mopped sweat from his feverish flushed cheeks. "My great aunt Maud told me once, 'Artemus, my boy, you must be ready for anything, anytime, you never know what can happen in life and when', and she was right."

Jim chuckled. "And she doesn't exist."

Suddenly there was a huge BOOM outside and a flash of light brightened the pitch black sky and the dimly lit room, the hard rain beating the small window harder. "And there's the hurricane outside, deadly…"

Once again in the darkness, Jim nodded. "I know, and because of the hurricane, the boat from Mobile won't come here get us – before Loveless poison us with his toxin. We have only a few hours left before he does this and kills us."

Fever making him shiver, Artemus pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. "And there's nowhere to hide on that island. Voltaire will find us, like he did before…"

They stayed in silence for a few minutes, listening to the pouring and pounding rain and continuous groan of thunder, seeing each other for a couple of 30 seconds in a total - trying to find a solution to escape from Loveless and for death.

Jim suddenly snapped his fingers. "The boat!" he said.

Eyes closed, feeling sleepy, Artemus whispered, "You said that the boat…"

Happy and relieved to have found a way to survive, Jim interrupted his partner. "Not that boat! The other boat. The lighthouse keeper's boat! I know where it is. It is anchored in a small cove, protected from the tempest by high, black, rocks and it was still intact when I saw it."

Silence.

Shaking Artie's shoulder, Jim said, "You with me buddy?"

Shifting on the cot, Artie groaned. "Always… 'Kay there's a boat… it was intact when you saw it, but it's probably broken by now… There's a hurricane outside y' know?"

Jim shook his head. "Be optimistic for once. I'm sure it's still intact. When we escaped, we will go on board to wait for the end of the hurricane, and we'll be out of reach of Voltaire. Because like Loveless, that giant can't swim."

Nodding in the darkness Artie said, "Yes, you're right. The last time we met him, we escaped by plunging into a river and he didn't follow us."

Still optimistic about their future, Jim continued, "And then we'll sail toward the coast. I'm sure you know how to use a boat."

Smiling in the blackness Artie said, "Of course I do, Jim. A friend of my dad, Harvey Millford had a boat and he taught me how to navigate on the Mississippi River when I was 10 years old. It was fantastic! Did I tell you that I built my own boat with my dad after that?"

Jim shook his head. "No, you didn't."

Artie continued, "And my mom made the sail. It was black and she had sewn a big AG in white canvas for Artemus Gordon on the top. I was so proud…"

Lightning illuminated the sky again and the room too, and for a split second the two men could see each other again.

Holding hands, they both said in a chorus, "Let's get out of here when it's dark!"

Then a shattering crash of thunder shook the lighthouse and a fireball hit the top of the tower. The light room exploded sending rubble flying in all directions.

Seconds later a huge ball of fire invaded the lighthouse stairs and landings.

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE MONSTROUS STORM**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _The lighthouse_

 _Past midnight_

 _Day 5_

Both Jim and Artemus moved back as they heard a loud strange hissing noise invade the lighthouse – and a few seconds later the door exploded.

Seconds later, a huge blast of intense heat hurtled into the room and the two men were knocked off their feet by the force of the impact. They were slammed against the curved back wall and they collapsed in a heap, seeing stars everywhere and ears ringing.

Flames invaded the room for a few seconds, passing just over their heads, then disappeared setting the Spartan furniture on fire.

Groaning, Jim was the first to stand and pulled Artie upright to his feet and heard the older man letting out a sharp hiss of pain.

Everything was burning around them.

Gritting his teeth as he was standing on his not-broken leg, Artie rasped, "There was an explosion. I think that the lightning hit the top of the lighthouse, and that it exploded, and the fire spread very quickly because Loveless has stored chemical products for his research in the other rooms as well as the combustible material for the alcohol burners…"

They headed toward the opening where the door was and moved back as a cascade of flames and waves of scorching heat engulfed the spiral staircase and the small landings.

It was a dead end, literally.

Retreating back, Jim and Artie hopping on his good leg glanced at the small window built in the thick stone wall of the lighthouse. It was too small for a man to go through to get out.

"We're going to burn alive in here," Artie said looking at Jim with eyes full of anguish.

But within seconds Jim remembered that he was still holding Artie's explosive, fuses and matches. "We're not going to die here, Artie," he said. Then he placed three pieces of explosives around the window, with a fuse in each, ready to light them.

Moving back, Artemus said, "That's a good idea, Jim, but we'll end up dead, jumping from here, our bodies smashed on the rocks below."

Glancing through the window, Jim could see the layers of foam splashing rocks dozens of yards lower, at the foot of the steep cliff where the waves were crashing. "This room is facing the highest point of the island… There's no ground, just the ocean and further, rocks."

Warily eying the big flames gaining ground in the room, Artie heaved a faux sigh of relief, "Oh, I feel soo much better. We're going to end up crushed against the rocks."

Striking a match against the wall, Jim replied, "Be positive, Artie. We've survived worst situations and we'll survive this one too. I can list ten of them all dating only from last few months." Then he lit the fuses, one by one and moved back to join Artemus standing on one leg next to the burning cot.

He helped Artemus to lie down on the floor and they watched the fuses burn slowly, then when they were almost consumed, they protected their heads with their folded arms and waited… A couple of seconds later, there was a big explosion.

Debris flew everywhere provoking scrapes and future bruises. Balls of fire and clouds of dark, acrid, smoke and dust invaded the room mixing with those coming from the stairs.

Both Jim and Artie, coughing, eyes burning, tears wetting their soot and dust-blackened faces… blindly jumped in the air, into the void.

Carried away by the powerful winds of the hurricane, they 'flew' away from rocks and cliffs and dropped like stones in the midst of wild waves.

But hitting the swirling waters at this height was like hitting a wall and Artemus's broken leg was busted a second time. His vision exploded into white as he let out a choked, agonized cry. This time the upper part of the shattered bone pierced the flesh and skin.

Overwhelmed by the agonizing pain that shot through his wounded leg, he passed out and was swallowed by a monstrous wall of water.

WWW

Holding Miguelito Loveless against him, and protecting him with his coat from the flames and smoke, Voltaire left the basement of the lighthouse.

Once outside, he moved away from the tower that had been transformed into a gigantic torch smoke billowing outwards the dark sky lit by thunderbolts and headed toward the ruined house.

Sheltered by a still intact part of the roof from the pouring rain, he lowered the Doctor to the ground covered with rubble and said, "We're safe."

But the diminutive man ignored his servant and bodyguard's remark, fists tightened, he watched the burning lighthouse.

He was absolutely furious. "My lab is gone and my toxin and antidote with it! I lost all my research notes. I lost everything!"

Nodding the black-clad giant said, "And the agents too."

Loveless's face was lit by a broad smile. "Yes, you're right Voltaire. James West and Artemus Gordon are now two piles of ashes. Good riddance! Although I'd have loved to kill them myself. But they're gone, and that's what is important."

He huddled in Voltaire's big wet coat and added, "We'll take the lighthouse keeper's boat and leave when the hurricane is over. In the meantime, we're going to have to stay here."

WWW

Not paying attention to the lighthouse now engulfed in flames fanned by the strong winds and not caring about Loveless's and Voltaire's fate, Jim plunged underwater to help Artie. Thankfully he was helped in his search by the gigantic fire, illuminating the ocean for miles around.

He surfaced shortly after, holding his unconscious best friend against him, tightly. Violently pushed by the furious waters toward the shore, they miraculously avoided the rocks bordering the cliff and ended up on a small beach covered with foam and algae.

Grabbing Artie's wrists, Jim pulled the other man onto the coarse sand and laid Artie's body, lifeless, cold and limp, down on the ground,. Then kneeling beside his drowned partner, he opened Artemus's mouth, tilted his head back, pinched his nose shut and placed his lips to those of the unconscious man. He started breathing for him, blowing air into him, anxiously watching for the rise of Artie's chest as his lungs expanded.

But there was no movement.

He repeated the motion a few times, drawing as much air into his own lungs as he could – but Artie wasn't breathing on his own, still. He remained motionless, his face slack and livid and his lips blue. "No, no, no!" he said through chattering teeth. "Don't do this to me! Don't die on me Artie! I can't do this alone, I need you." He pinched the other man's nose breathed into his mouth again. "Come on!"

He placed one hand over the other above his partner's sternum, interlocking his fingers, before beginning chest compressions, hard. He heard a crack but continued.

One, two, three.

Jim leaned back down, squashing Artie's nose shut before giving him another breath of air.

He lost track of how many times he pumped his hands against Artie' ribcage and the number of breaths he gave him, but didn't stop.

He couldn't stop. He couldn't lose the man he loved like his own brother.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Artemus jerked and shuddered. He coughed his way to life, thrashing, his chest rising and falling with each painful, ragged breath, spluttering and vomiting water.

Jim rolled him on his right side and slapped Artie's back hard as more water rushed out of his mouth. "Yes, that's it buddy! Breathe, breathe, you're safe now."

His chest heaving, pain radiating in his ribs, Artie opened his eyes, glazed and red and puffy and he mumbled, his throat burning, "Wha' happn'd?" He slurred blinking in confusion.

Grinning Jim leaned over his partner. He'd brought Artie back. He was alive! "You drowned that's what happened, and I performed the Cardiopulmonary resuscitation technique, you taught me, on you, and I brought you back, buddy." He cringed and added. "And I think may have cracked one of your ribs performing chest compressions. I'm really sorry." Glancing at Artie's left leg; he grimaced at the sight of the bone sticking out from the bleeding wound amid the burst stitches. "Don't move!"

But Artie, a bit dazed, propped himself up on his elbows and shifted. Immediately a sharp stab of pain in his injured leg made him scream.

Eyes filled with tears, he fell on his back, gritting his teeth.

Pressing Artie's hand in his, Jim said, "I told you not to move. Your leg is in a worse state. A piece of the bone is sticking out, and the wound is bleeding again."

His eyes sunken and tired, his teeth chattering, Artemus let out, "Okay. Not m'ving. Thank you Jim, y' s'ved my life." He slurred and he went limp afterward, passed out, his head lolling to the side.

Pulling Artemus in his arms so they could keep each other warm, Jim said, "Everything's going to be okay," and looked up to watch the lighthouse burn, smoke billowing up into the air.

Exhausted, he realized that the ringing in his ears had started to fade and his eyelids felt suddenly heavy, the adrenaline rush fading.

He drifted off to sleep a couple of seconds later.

WWW

 _Much later, in the afternoon_

Feeling sunlight touch his dirty and stubbled face, Jim opened his eyes, slowly and was very surprised to see big blue and gray clouds sharing the sky overhead.

He used his left arm to push himself upright as the right one was wrapped around Artemus's waist, the other man being slumped against him.

He heaved a long sigh of relief. The hurricane was gone. "Artie? Wake up! It's over." But his partner remained motionless.

He gently maneuvered the older man to one side, on the warming sand minding his broken leg and pressed two fingers to Artie's pulse point.

He was unconscious, and breathing, but his face was an unhealthy gray.

Jim noticed that his partner had a big bruise and a swelling where Jim cracked a rib during CPR.

His stomach turned and nearly gagged when he spotted the state Artemus's leg was in. It was twice its normal size; the wound was angry red with spider-web-like blueish lines heading away from it, unmistakable signs of infection. The bone was jutting out just under the knee and it was coated in dried blood – blood which had pooled on the sand. "I have to get you to a doctor as soon as possible… " He glanced around him locating pieces of wood and bundles of long dried algae and added, "I need to make a travois to carry you to the boat, the coast is not so far…"

He had just said that, when a boat with a white hull and a red sail – he instantly recognized as the lighthouse keeper's boat appeared between two big black rocks, moving away from the island pushed by strong winds blowing the sail.

He cursed between his teeth and rubbed an anxious hand over his head in his tousled hair. Loveless and Voltaire had preceded them. They had taken the boat! There was only one way to leave the island now: the boat coming from Mobile to pick them up.

In two days!

Looking down at Artemus he knew that his best friend wouldn't last those two days, weakened by blood loss and with his broken leg. Open fractures posed an immediate risk of infection. He would have a sceptic shock in a few hours and then he would die.

Moaning, Artemus came to slowly, his breathing was ragged and a split second later he cried out as the pain radiated up his left leg in white, hot, agony. "Hurts," he mumbled. Through blurred vision he saw Jim kneel at his side. "Hey…"

Placing his hand on Artie's shoulder in a comforting gesture, Jim said softly, "Hey yourself!"

Frowning in concern, Artie asked, "You okay? Y're covered with scrapes and bruises…"

Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture Jim said. "That's nothing." Then he smiled. But it was a sad smile. "You're going to be okay, Artemus."

Shaking his head weakly, Artie rasped, "Still the optimistic one, I see. Let me be the realistic one, again. I'm not going to make it, Jim." He touched his face and neck which were glistening with sweat. "Fever's back…" Pulling himself upright on one knee, he glanced at his battered leg and compound fracture. "Not going to last long… will go into sceptic shock soon. I witnessed that during the war… lots of wounded men died in a matter of hours from severe infection running in the bloodstream, leading to respiratory or heart failure, stroke, failure of other organs, and death." He lowered himself and let out a long resigned sigh. "I'm gonna die and you'll have to keep my body wrapped in sheets and blankets until my body is transported to the mainland and placed in a coffin. Then you will take me back to Washington." He smiled. "I have a few hours in front of me in which to teach you how to sail a boat… no practical exercise, just theory."

Cringing, Jim said, "Loveless and Voltaire took it to leave the island. The only way to leave this island now is to embark in the boat from Mobile."

Frowning, Artie nodded. "I hate them!" He sighed and added, "If of course the boat from Mobile comes here. The hurricane could have destroyed it, like all the other boats… Mobile could have been destroyed by the hurricane too. We don't know anything. In this case you will need to bury me the time someone comes. People in Mobile know that we're on that island… Unless they were killed by the hurricane. In this case, you will have to live on the island until a ship comes into view. A fire should get the captain's attention. But you musn't wait long. There are a lot of ships in the Gulf of Mexico…"

Frowning Jim said, "You're not going to die, Artie. You're strong enough to hold on for two days… and I'm sure that the boat from Mobile is going to come to pick us."

Blinking tiredly, Artie said, "I'll be dead in a few hours, Jim." And then he suddenly hissed and cried out when a flash of searing pain shot through his injured leg. "Oh God!"

Shaking his head, Jim affirmed, "You're not going to die. You're the strongest man I know. You can survive anything!"

Feeling dizzy, his vision blurring in and out, he croaked, "I don't have much time left…" He let out a burp. "Oh god! Gonna be sick." he announced before leaning to the side and retching. When he was done, he slumped on his back and wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand. "I'm not… immortal Jim. I'm just a man, and I'm dying…" Then a shuddering cough raked through his fever-induced shivering body and he closed his eyes, succumbing to sleep.

WWW

 _Much later_

His eyes fluttering open, Artie realized first that he wasn't dead – yet – and noticed that he was back in what was left of the lighthouse keeper's bedroom. He could see an intact part of the roof above him and further the darkening sky and shining stars.

Good news: the hurricane had passed over them.

He was lying on the floor, in a nest of blankets with a pillow under his head. Jim was sitting cross-legged beside him, holding a tin box. There was a small fire behind him.

He smiled. "A little small for a coffin… y' know. But my ashes will fit in it, that's for sure. But I don't want to be cremated." And he watched Jim furrow his brow upset, no furious.

Opening the box, Jim pulled out a cookie. "Don't ever talk about dying again." He growled and brought the cookie to his partner's lips. "You need to eat to gain strength."

But Artie pushed Jim's hand back, gently. "'M dying, not hungry, keep the food for you. A ship could come tomorrow or the day after or later and rescue you and you need to survive for that long. Plus there's no need to feed a dying man."

Paling, a lump in his throat, Jim said, "Don't say that! You're going to live!"

Moving his left hand toward Jim's knee, placing it there, Artemus said, "You know I'm right, Jim. I'm sure you'll survive. I won't and you know this too." Then he started shivering.

Feeling his heart sink slowly, Jim lowered his head as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He dropped the cookie into the tin box. He sniffled then mopped his wet face with his forearm. "I'm so sorry Artie… if only I could help you…" And he swallowed harshly.

Pressing Jim's knee with trembling fingers, the older man nodded and, his teeth chattering he said, "Y-you c-can. Stay w-with m-me, I-I don't want t-to die alone."

Barely keeping new tears at bay Jim nodded. "I won't leave you, Artie. I promise." Then he turned around, grabbed a fistful of twigs and threw them into the fire, starting mini fireworks of sparks. Looking down at his best friend again he asked, "Are you cold?"

Blinking tiredly, Artemus replied, "Y-yes, I'm c-c-cold. Hyp-hypo-hypothermia. It's one of the s-signs of-of severe sepsis." He was panting now. "And… breathing problems…" And he gasped to regain his breath. "I'm going… to die of… of asphyxiation before I die of sepsis…"

Jim placed a blanket on top of Artie's body, but avoided the badly wounded leg with the bone poking out. Blood was oozing again from the wound, he noticed.

Artie smiled weakly, "Thanks."

Placing his palm on Artemus's forehead Jim found the skin damp but cold there. He dropped large pieces of wood that came from the furniture destroyed in the fire.

Blinking slowly, dazedly, Artie rasped, "Dad?... Dad, I feel sick. Help me…" Then his father's face morphed back into Jim's. He frowned recognizing his partner. "Jim? It's y-you? Thought it was my d-dad."

Pressing a damp cloth to Artie's face, Jim added confusion to the list of symptoms. "It's me Artie, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

Closing his eyes, Artemus slurred, "Tell my m-mom… tell her I-I love her…" Big tears rolled on his ashen and gaunt face while he was whimpering in pain.

Imagining Helena Gordon's reaction to the news that her only son was dead, Jim's face crumpled and tears started streaming down his face. "I will."

His eyes foggy and tired, his face now so very pale, Artie added, his voice faint, "Tell the General I'm sorry I c-couldn't w-win t-that f-fight… Met his aide-de-camp, man called James West… nice guy… He shot me y' know, need to sleep dad..." Then he lost consciousness.

Gazing at his dying best friend, Jim started to sob. He pressed his face against Artemus's hair. 'Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me. You're… you're all I have."

WWW

 _Later, late afternoon_

For the ninth time since Artemus had slipped into loss of consciousness, Jim pressed two fingers against his partner's throat. His skin was cold and he was shivering.

His pulse was still there, but slow and erratic. His breath was coming out short and ragged and even had shallowed and stopped for a few seconds, twice. He had performed Cardiopulmonary resuscitation technique each time and brought him back.

He knew that his best friend could die anytime from respiratory or heart failure, from a stroke, or some other medical complication – and he felt totally helpless and heartbroken and terrified.

He placed his hand on the side of Artie's pale face and said, "I can't resign myself to the idea of you dying… I can't. It's impossible." He dropped his hand, crying softly into it. "You can't die."

He abruptly stopped crying a few seconds later when he suddenly heard a bell ring in the distance. "What?" Stunned, he blinked twice. "A bell?" He let out.

He stood up and sprinted out of the ruined house… and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw an ironclad frigate anchored off the island. "It's a ship!" he croaked out in disbelief. Then he spotted a boat leaving the Navy ship with sailors on board.

He beamed, disbelief replaced by immense joy, no complete exhilaration. They were coming here. They were saved! He thought.

WWW

 _Later, on board the USS Tennessee_

Once on board, the Captain of the frigate approached Jim and asked, "We came as soon as we spotted the burning lighthouse. I'm Captain Harris of the _USS Tennessee_ , what happened?"

But, totally focused on Artie lying on a stretcher, motionless, still unconscious, Jim didn't hear the question. "My partner needs medical help," he just said.

Harris nodded and gestured to the officer standing at his side. "Dr. Forbes is going to take care of him. He's the best surgeon in the Navy."

Black points suddenly invaded Jim's vision which tunneled then and he collapsed to the deck, passed out with exhaustion.

WWW

 _Late, in sickbay_

Lieutenant-Commander Gerald Forbes, the ship's medical officer, offered a cup of coffee to Jim sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting room of the sickbay, "Your partner needs surgery to save his life," he said. "I'm talking about his badly injured leg."

Pale as a ghost, Jim nodded. "Will you have to amputate?" he asked the other man while taking the steaming cup in a trembling hand, horrified at the thought.

Forbes shook his head. "No, there's no need. Once the bone is back in its original place, the wound cleaned and the infected tissue and abscesses removed, I will get the infection under control thanks to a drug of my invention I use in the treatment and prevention of severe infections. His condition should improve, but it will take a little while for everything to go back to normal. I mean that he won't be able to walk and even less ride a horse for months."

Lowering his head, immensely relieved, Jim whispered, "Thank you." he suddenly remembered, "Artemus has a cracked rib too."

The medical officer added, "I noticed. It's just cracked, not broken fortunately and still in its place in the rib cage. I must leave to take care of Artemus, now. You should rest. There's a cot for you in the cabin next door. The operation will take quite some time. Don't worry, I'm a seasoned naval surgeon, it's not the first time I treat that kind of injury. I had to work on this kind of injury during the war, and accidents happen on a ship. I'm very good at what I do. He's in good hands."

Leaning against the bulkhead, Jim nodded. "Okay, thank you doctor." He took a sip of coffee and watched Lt. Cdr. Forbes leave the room to enter the sickbay.

Shortly after, the door opened and the Captain entered. "Ah! It's good to see that you're awake." He took his place on a chair beside the younger man and observed him for a few seconds. He was covered with bruises and scrapes, dressed in what was left of pajama pants, had messy hair and thick stubble on his pale face and overall he was filthy. Then he asked, "What happened on that island? Apart from the damage the hurricane did. A lighthouse doesn't usually burn."

Lowering his cup of coffee to his right knee, Jim said, "It's a long story, Sir. Let's start at the beginning, my name is James West, I'm a special agent of the Secret Service…"

WWW

 _Much later_

Biting his lower lip nervously, Jim was still sitting in the waiting room, so worried that he couldn't even think about going to sleep to have some rest, when the door leading to the sickbay opened. Dr. Forbes appeared and he was smiling. "The surgery went well," he announced. "Your partner is out of danger and there was minimal damage to his left leg. He will have a few scars though and it's going to be a long road to recovery. But he won't have any lasting effects."

Running a trembling hand in his disheveled hair, Jim breathed out, "Thank God… and thank you Doctor. You saved his life." He stood. "When can I see him?"

Placing a calming hand on the other man, the medical officer said, "He's still unconscious. You'll see him later, after a good night sleep."

Shaking his head, Jim said, "I want to see him now, and I will sleep at his side, on the floor is necessary. I promised not to leave him and I always keep my promises."

Gerald Forbes nodded. "Alright. I accept that because if it's the only way you'll agree to sleep – and I don't want to pick you up from the floor again."

He opened the door, Jim in tow then headed to the bed where Artemus was lying, sleeping soundly, heavily drugged with laudanum. He was as white as the pajamas he was wearing. He was so pale and immobile that he looked like a corpse.

Seeing Jim's distressed look, the doctor said, "He's alive. Don't worry, the worst is behind him. He's going to be alright. I gave him an injection of that drug of mine to fight the infection in his system. It seems to work as the swelling has already diminished. It should have disappeared within a week. I used a powerful antiseptic to clean the wound and stitched it again. I removed all the infected tissue and abscesses from the wound then cleaned it out. The wound should heal nicely. And I stabilized the bone with an external fixation device, so the shin will heal nicely too."

Curious Jim asked, "How?"

Lieutenant-Commander Forbes lifted the blanket, revealing Artie's left leg and external fixation device and explained, "It was a clean break, so after the pieces of bone were well aligned, I used an invention of mine. The shin has been immobilized by metal pins. These have been inserted into the bone on either side of the fracture. The pins are held in place by an external metal frame. This device provides stability during the healing process and is usually removed after a couple of weeks. This technique allows access to the wound and to the areas of skin that have been pierced by the procedure for a proper cleaning to prevent infection." He paused and placed a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. "Your friend was very lucky, the damage to the soft tissues around the bone - including muscles, tendons, nerves, veins, and arteries, was limited and I repaired everything. So there's no need for other surgical procedures. For comfort, a doctor could remove the external fixation after the bone fragments have solidified together and place a cast there instead."

Impressed Jim said, "That's fantastic!" He furrowed his eyebrows in alarm and then swallowed nervously. "Will Artemus have lasting effects? Like a limp?"

Because it meant no field missions for him anymore. Artemus Gordon would end his career behind a desk, away from him.

No, he wouldn't do that, but resign to go back to his first love, the theater, he thought.

Gerald Forbes shook his head. "Nothing. He won't have any lasting effects, and his cracked rib is going to heal on its own. I taped them to increase stability and decrease pain."

Jim breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Artie would stay at his side!

Forbes continued, "The rest is all scratches and bruises, nothing important, but I cleaned them." He glanced at Jim's limbs covered with scratches and bruises too and added, "It's your turn now."

Moving closer, Jim nodded absently. He could see that his best friend's chest was moving, up and down. He was breathing, yes. He was alive, yes.

He took Artie's hand in his and pressed it, feeling the warmth of it, smiling. "He's not cold, he's alive…" He finally realized.

Dr. Forbes pointed his forefinger toward the cot next to Artie's. "You can sleep here. But first I'm going to take care of those bruises and scratches…"

Once the medical officer had left, Jim dressed in white pajamas, brushed Artemus's wild hair back from his forehead. "Everything's going to be alright," he said, his heavy eyelids already falling shut. "You're safe now Artie, you're safe." He scrubbed at his bearded face with his hands. "God, I'm so tired..." He exhaled heavily before hiding a huge yawn behind his hand.

He lay down on the cot and fell fast asleep.

WWW

 _The next morning_

Eyes fluttering open, Artemus stared a few seconds at a wooden ceiling, and realized two things simultaneously: first he was still alive, which was good, and two, he was on a ship. He could feel the ground moving with the roll and all the noises linked to life on board: the creaking of ropes and spars, the slamming of the sails, the whistles, people shouting orders, etc.

Confused, he frowned, trying to remember how he had ended up on a ship, but the last thing he remembered was Jim, shooting him during the war. "He'o…? J'm? An'one?" He slurred, speech affected by both sleep and laudanum "J'm? Y're here?"

Napping on the side cot, Jim was awakened by the sound of Artemus's voice and he sat on Artie's small collapsible bed a couple of seconds later. "I'm here! Artie, I'm here," he said with a reassuring voice. Placing a hand on Artie's, Jim asked softly, "How are you feeling buddy?"

Smiling weakly, his eyes glassy, Artie said, "A-live… and, as I can't feel a'y pain, I s'ppose I'm drugged. And-and I'm a bit light h'ded."

Placing a hand on Artie's shoulder Jim was very happy to announce to his partner, "That's laudanum. You're in the sickbay of the _USS Tennessee_. You've had an operation, but everything's fine. The ship's doctor told me the surgery went well, Artemus. You're out of danger and you won't have any lasting effects. You have an external fixation device to keep your broken shin stabilized."

Blinking dazedly Artie nodded, slowly. "What? Can you tell me what's going on? What happened?" He asked a bit clearer this time.

Jim continued, "The _USS Tennessee_ rescued us after they discovered that the lighthouse had burnt down. We left the island and are heading toward Tampa where the ship will assist the people affected by the hurricane which has particularly devastated Florida. We should reach it within three days. Then we'll disembark and you will be transferred to the local hospital, until the Wanderer arrives in Tampa. Two agents from New Orleans will transfer our belongings and horses from Mobile to the Wanderer before it leaves for Tampa. Then you will be transferred to the Washington Military Hospital where Dr. Henderson will remove that external fixation device and place a cast around your leg. You'll have a long recovery."

His smile broadening, Artie said, "I know a few lovely nurses there… Remember Lizzy? The blond-haired one? She's adorable." He yawned widely and closed his eyes. "Blue eyes…"

Smoothing Artie's hair back from his forehead in a brotherly gesture, Jim said, "Yes, I remember. You'll be all pampered there; Artie and Dr. Henderson will take care of you." Watching Artie's haggard eyes, he added, "You just get some sleep now, you've done enough talking."

Moving his head to the side on the fluffy pillow, Artemus relaxed and slurred, "Blue eyes…" Then he drifted off to sleep.

Jim heard a snore.

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE MONSTROUS STORM**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 _Two weeks later_

 _Washington Military Hospital_

 _At night_

Using a sepia pencil, Elizabeth Harrison was finishing drawing a big daisy on Artemus Gordon's cast when the Secret Service agent opened his eyes.

He blinked groggily and smiled weakly. "Hey!" he said with a scratchy voice, and then he coughed. Immediately pain flared in his chest. "Boy! That hurts!" he added hoarsely and he rubbed the area where his cracked rib was, feeling the bandage under the fabric of his white pajama top.

Smiling, the nurse dropped the sepia pen on the bed and, taking the glass of water from the bedside table, she brought it to Artie's parched lips. "Take small sips, slowly," she instructed and he complied. "That's good. Hello Artemus. I was wondering if you would wake up one day… I missed you, a lot," and she leaned in and kissed his forehead.

Pushing the half-empty glass to the side, Artie said, "Hello Lizzy, I missed you too… " And he kissed the blond, blue-eyed young woman on her neck.

She chuckled. "Lips are up there Artemus… You must be confused after the anesthesia. The last effects should wear off soon."

Glancing at his left lower leg propped up on two pillows and sheathed in a cast starting under his knee and ending at his feet, he saw that it was covered with dozens of sepia flowers drawings. It was Lizzy's doing – she loved flowers and drawing them. The last time he was here he had taught her how to draw them, he recalled.

He asked, "Yes, I am. The last thing I remember is Dr. Henderson examining my 'external fixation device'… and saying that my stitches were inflamed, infected… Then he injected me with something, a sedative and I was out."

He rubbed his temples, trying to chase away the dull throbbing in his head.

Lizzy nodded. "He took you to the operating room to remove the 'external fixation device', remove the stitches, clean out your infected wound and stitched it again. Then he bandaged it and put a cast around your broken tibia so the bone fragments continue to solidify together. He'll remove it in a couple of days, to see if your wound is healing properly. If there's no infection he'll just clean it out again, change the bandages, then he will put another cast around your injured leg. He'll do that each couple of days until your wound and leg are healed. The President was here when Dr. Henderson took care of your leg."

Lifting his eyebrows in surprise, Artie asked, "The President was here?" Then, the surprise gone he nodded. Of course he was there. He was worried about him. Ulysses S. Grant had liked him like he was his own son since the war. He had sort of adopted him, he thought.

Lizzy nodded. "Yes he was here. He visited you after you were transferred here from the operating room, but you were deeply unconscious, so, after a moment he left. I have good news for you. The wound is healing nicely, there's no trace of infection in your leg and in your system and the bone fragments are solidifying together gently. But the bad news is that you'll have to stay in bed for a little while."

Artie chuckled. "That's not bad news… as I will have you at my side to take care of me." He tried to sit up but only made it onto his elbows and hissed. The pain was sharp and white-hot. "Ow! Ow!" And he collapsed on his back.

Lizzy immediately waved her finger sternly. "You have a compound fracture, Artemus. You aren't allowed to move!"

Grimacing, Artie asked, "Could I have something for the pain?"

She placed a hand on Artie's back, gently pushed him forward, fluffed the pillow with her other hand then lowered him against it. "Here, stay still. I'm going ask Dr. Henderson to come here. He's the only one who can give you painkillers."

But Artie didn't stay still. He immediately took advantage of the nurse's closeness and wrapped his arm around Lizzy's waist. He pulled her to him by the waist, as close as he could, holding her against himself firmly, yet delicately at the same time. Then he maneuvered her onto the bed, his agile fingers playing over the lines of her white uniform.

Upset, she frowned. "Artemus Gordon! I said stay still!" but she couldn't resist his charming smile and she moaned when he pressed soft kisses to the skin of her neck. Eyes closed, she melted in his arms, and, taking his face between her hands she leaned in, and kissed Artemus, pressing their lips together, French-kissing him a split second later before tangling her hands in his tousled hair.

Moaning, they pushed and tugged, tongues dancing, mingling, invading the other's mouth. Artie deepened the kiss, pressing firmer against Lizzy. They kissed lazily and sweetly.

Lizzy was combing her hand through Artie's soft, curly hair while she slid her other hand under the soft fabric of his jacket when she was startled and frightened by a loud crack of thunder which echoed and then faded into a gentle boom.

She made a muffled sound of surprise and pulled back to catch her breath. "I'm sorry, I hate thunder…" She said as pouring rain started battering the window of the white painted room. She kissed Artie's nose playfully then she added, "I read in the newspapers that the monstrous hurricane transformed itself into a 'tropical storm' and headed here."

Glancing through the heavy raindrops on the window Artemus watched streaks of lightning filling the night sky of the Capital.

He loved thunderstorms at night, when he was lying in his bed, buried under the blankets. It somehow helped him to find sleep, acting like a loud lullaby. It was like that since he was a little boy and the hurricane didn't change that, he thought, relieved.

Lizzy placed her hand on Artie's bearded cheek and said, "You need a shave, Artemus." She nibbled on his bottom lip, kissed him briefly and then padded toward the table where she had set the necessary equipment on a tray. "I prepared everything I would need when you were sleeping."

She came back beside Artemus a few seconds later, holding it in her hands. She had placed on it a hot wet towel to soften the skin and hair, shaving soap providing protection and lubrication for the razor, a shaving brush to whip the soap into a lather, a shaving mug, a bottle of oil in order to lubricate and moisturize the skin to prevent a painful razor burn – and an open razor.

She placed the loaded tray on Artie's lap and said, "Relax and let me get rid of that awful beard… it scratches me each time I kiss you or you kiss me and I don't like it, and it doesn't look good on you, it makes you look older."

Artie smiled and said, "I didn't shave on board the _USS Tennessee_ that was too dangerous because of the rolling and all the abrupt movements of the ship. I didn't want to cut my throat and bleed to death. Then I decided to keep my beard because it was very difficult for me to shave myself as I was lying down on my bed on the Wanderer. And I didn't ask Jim to do it. That poor man was already very busy taking care of me almost round the clock as I was stuck in bed." He smiled again and added, "But you can shave it, I don't mind. Besides, I love your kisses, and I love to kiss you too – and I don't want to look older either."

Lizzy placed the hot wet towel on Artie's face, and then worked the shaving brush on the Eau de Cologne scented shaving soap into a lather.

She took the towel off Artemus's face and noticed that he had his eyes closed. "Are you asleep?" She asked with a smile.

Smiling in his turn, Artie opened his eyes shook his head. "No, but I'm sleepy… I'm so very tired… Pain's dull now…" And then he yawned.

Lizzy began to smooth the lather over her patient's neck and face watching the agent blink against an overwhelming fatigue. But he would lose inevitably, she thought.

Her hand steady, she used the razor to remove the dark beard with a touch of silver, slowly, gently, eliciting moans of pleasure from Artie with each pass of the sharp blade.

She smiled and paused again to wipe the blade in the tepid towel once more. "You love it when I shave you, don't you?" And he nodded, closing his eyes again. Then lulled by the thunderstorm and rain sounds Artie drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Gently tilting Artie's head, she adjusted the angle and resumed on her patient's right side, the razor gliding along in short strokes, cutting away the coarse hairs from Artemus's face.

She gave careful razor swipes on top of his upper lip, under the tower lip, then she tilted his neck up, angled the razor just under Artemus's strong jaw and gently skimmed the blade up along his Adam's apple, scraping the skin clean there.

She wiped the last remnants of the shaving foam away with a towel then ran the back of her hand across his face and tested the feel. It was smooth as silk to the touch. She poured a little lavender oil in her hands then gently rubbed it on the sleeping man's relaxed face.

She chuckled when she heard Artemus snoring. She patted the now cool towel against his face and leaned forward to kiss his freshly shaven cheek. "Sweet dreams."

She dimed the light coming from the gas lamp hanging on the wall before leaving, keeping the door slightly ajar so she could keep an eye on her beloved patient.

WWW

 _In a house on the outskirts of Washington D.C._

 _The next morning_

Sal Mosley entered the house and ran at top speed in the direction of the study. He opened the door, surprising Dr. Loveless who gasped – and interrupting his calculations.

Frowning in anger, Miguelito Loveless glared at his employee and said, "I hope for you that you interrupted me for something important."

Moving closer to his boss, looking warily at Voltaire standing behind his master looking like an oversized vulture - the blond man removed his cap and nodded. "Yes, Doctor. It is. I was walking past the railway station when I spotted the Wanderer on a spur track!"

Loveless looked down at his calculations, not interested. "They brought the train back home, to Washington D.C. But it's empty. West and Gordon are ashes now."

Mosley shook his head. "No, Doctor. West is not dead. I saw him leave the Wanderer and I followed him to the building of the Treasury Department. He stayed there for 30 minutes and then he left to go to the Military Hospital. I suppose he visited Gordon there."

Loveless was positively stunned. He blinked twice then said, "They're still alive. But how is it possible… ?" Then he was impressed. "Those men are truly exceptional – and worthy adversaries." Then he smiled happily. "That's good news Mosley! I'm going to be able to kill them myself then, after all. Good! Good!" He turned around and looked up at Voltaire's impassive face. "Voltaire, bring Mr. Gordon here, I will send Mosley and his men fetch Mr. West," he ordered the giant. "It will leave me some time to think about how they are going to die. I'm going to find something creative."

WWW

 _Later, at the Military Hospital_

 _Midday_

Entwined, Lizzy and Artemus were French-kissing when Jim entered his partner's private room and smiling he said, "Hi Artie! I can see that you feel much better. Oh! You shaved your beard!"

The blonde nurse was the first to part and she grinned. "Hello James! Yes, Artemus's beard vanished. I shaved it. It scratched me each time we kissed… and he looked older with it." She paused and saw Artie smooth a hand over his beardless chin. Then she continued, "It's good to see you again. I wasn't on duty when you brought Artemus here. I couldn't say hello."

Heading toward Artie and Lizzy who was now standing, Jim replied, "Hello Lizzy, it's good to see you again too." He stopped beside the young woman, took her hand in his and kissed it. "I'm sure you're taking good care of my partner here."

Lizzy chuckled. "I'm doing my best." She kissed Artie goodbye, lingering on his lips and then she kissed Jim's cheek. "Keep an eye on Artemus while I'm gone, James. See you later." And she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim asked, "How are you Artie?"

Leaning against the fluffy pillow settled in his back, Artie yawned and stretched cat-like. "I'm alright and it's good to be home again."

Pointing at Artemus's flowery cast Jim said, "Dr. Henderson removed your external fixation device I see and replaced it by a lovely cast."

Looking at the plaster cast too Artemus chuckled. "Yes, he did, it's more comfortable and less painful and Lizzy decorated it with flowers." And he smiled when he saw Jim take the sepia pencil that the nurse had forgotten on the bed and start filling a few petals with color. "What did you do after bringing me here? Lizzy told me that the President was here when Dr. Henderson took care of my leg, but you weren't."

Holding up the pencil Jim replied, "I'm sorry about that. I'd have liked to have been at your side, with President Grant, but I met Colonel Richmond in the hall and he asked me for a complete report, as soon as possible. So I went back to the Wanderer and wrote it. I gave it to him one hour ago and then I came here." He started to write something on the cast and added, "How long are you going to be here?"

Trying to read what Jim was writing on his cast amid sepia flowers, Artie responded, "I don't know, I didn't see Dr. Henderson yet, I mean while I was awake." He paused seeing that Jim had finished. "What did you write on my cast?"

Lifting the pen from the cast, Jim said, "I wrote "The better part of one's life consists of his friendships"… President Lincoln said that.

Artie nodded. "True."

Suddenly the door opened and Dr. Stephen Henderson CMO of the Military Hospital entered the room, holding a chart.

Moving toward the two men he asked, "How do you feel Artemus?" Before pulling out a stethoscope from the right pocket of his white coat.

Smiling Artemus responded, "I'm fine. My leg doesn't hurt too much, just a little but it itches and my cracked rib hurts when I cough. When can I leave?"

Taking a couple of steps to the side, Jim let his place to Henderson.

Stephen Henderson took Artie's wrist and felt his pulse. "Not before two weeks at least. I need to check out your leg every two days to see if everything's alright." He placed the stethoscope against his patient's chest and saw him wince. "Your cracked rib is going to heal on its own in one or two months. Your compound fracture to your shin will take much longer." He paused listening to the heartbeat. "Hmm… heartbeat is normal." He touched Artie's forehead then. "No fever, good, good." Then, finally he checked Artie's pupils. "Everything is normal." He made some notes on his chart and said, "You were lucky that Dr. Forbes is a talented surgeon, Artemus. Any other doctor than him would have amputated your leg considering its state. I saw that a hundred times during the war, unfortunately."

Remembering piles of amputated limbs in the middle of medical tents after ferocious battles, Artie paled. "Yes, I know. Me too." He even felt a bit sick. "Two weeks? Can I use a wheelchair to move from my room? Because I will go crazy otherwise."

Henderson nodded. "And a lovely nurse to push it, I suppose?"

Smiling, Artie said, "Please. Lizzy?"

Heading toward the door, the Colonel said, "I'll see what I can do. I'm going to ask a nurse to bring you a tray with your lunch."

Frowning Artemus said, "I hope it's good, because I'm hungry." Chuckling softly, the CMO left the room, and closed the door behind him. That meant no, he thought.

Placing a soothing hand on Artemus's shoulder Jim said, "Don't worry. I'm going to go to Maurice's, the French restaurant on Pine Street and bring you the 'plat du jour' and a dessert, and a bottle of wine. I'll be back in about thirty minutes."

Smiling, relieved, Artie patted Jim's hand. "Thank you, Jim, you're a life saver!"

Smiling too, Jim moved toward the door.

Reaching out toward the bedside table, Artie picked up the Washington Gazette and opened it to read the entertainment pages.

WWW

 _Later_

Looking up at the male orderly pushing his wheelchair toward the hall of the hospital, Artie asked, "Where is Lizzy?"

The other man responded, "She's busy with another patient, Mr. Gordon. Dr. Henderson asked me to tell you that I will take care of you during your stay here. My name is Reggie Stanton."

Frustrated, Artie crossed his arms on his chest and pouted childishly. Henderson knew he loved flirting with Lizzy and with other nurses too. But he thought he was distracting them from their duty, as they spent too much of time with him and not enough time with the other patients.

He was mean!

Pointing at the large door, he said, "I need some fresh air." And Stanton rolled his wheelchair in front of the WMH, then into the adjacent garden.

Looking at the insipid sun the orderly 'parked' the wheelchair and Artemus next to a bench and asked, "Do you need anything, Mr. Gordon?"

Looking down at the pile of newspapers which was settled on his blanket-covered covered lap, Artie shook his head. "No, thank you."

The bulky-built man smiled and said, "I'll come back in 30 minutes, to see if everything is alright," Then he left, heading back toward the main building.

Bored after 10 minutes, Artemus rolled his wheelchair toward a group of lovely nurses chatting together heading toward the fountain.

He recognized Eliza, Polly and Emma among them and he smiled. The last time he was at the hospital, they had a cat-fight to find out which of them would take care of him. To stop it, he had proposed to them to divide the days of the week between them, and they would take care of him on Sundays in turn.

He paused and glanced around him: no _rabat-joie_ Henderson in sight. Good!

He was abruptly stopped in his momentum and, turning around said, "I thought you were…" And gasped when he discovered that it wasn't Stanton who had grabbed his wheelchair, but a giant with a feral smile, wearing an orderly's uniform, Voltaire!

He was going to cry for help, when he felt a sharp sting in his neck. Within seconds his eyesight blurred and he lost his ability to speak.

He had just been drugged, he realized, feeling his whole body become heavy, his limbs going rigid. Then blackness came and he lost consciousness.

WWW

 _Later,_

 _Loveless's hideout, in a cellar_

Blinking his eyes open, Artemus immediately registered that his wrists hurt as well as his wounded leg. He grimaced and grunted.

He registered that he was standing, his arms being stretched. He looked up and noticed that his wrists were caught in manacles and the manacles attached to a chain attached to the stony ceiling. He saw another pair of manacles hanging beside him and immediately knew he wasn't going to stay alone. They were probably destined to keep his partner prisoner, he thought.

He was in an empty cellar with no opening except a metallic door. It was dimly lit with a couple of lanterns hanging on a wall.

He remembered Voltaire standing behind him, injecting him a powerful paralyzing drug and then blackness had engulfed him.

He was Dr. Loveless's prisoner.

He lifted his broken left leg and stood on the right in a precarious equilibrium and a good part of his pain disappeared.

Hearing voices in the corridor, he stared at the door and a few seconds later it opened and Miguelito Loveless entered the vaulted and humid cellar. He was followed by his Voltaire-shadow.

Smiling like a predator which was playing with its prey before killing it and devouring it, Loveless said, "And we meet again, Mr. Gordon."

Faking surprise Artemus said, "Who? I'm not Artemus Gordon, but Martin Scott. You confused me with him. We all make mistakes, you know. Nobody's perfect."

Loveless smiled. "I don't make mistakes, never, and I am perfect."

Smiling, Artie replied, "Well, if you were perfect, Jim and I will be dead by now. But we're still alive. You failed, Doctor. I think failure is opposed to perfection." He smiled and added, "'We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels', William Shakespeare, Henry VIII."

Loveless's eyes flashed. His face reflecting his annoyance and displeasure, he moved closer to his prisoner and replied, "You're such a wit, Mr. Gordon." And he kicked Artie's bad leg. "Oh, I'm sorry, I slipped. That probably hurts!" then he let out a cruel smile.

Immediately Artie screamed and tears welled up to his eyes. "Oh God!" he rasped between gritted teeth and gingerly lowered his throbbing leg to the ground.

He glared at Loveless.

Moving around Artie, ignoring the agent's black look, the diminutive man continued, "I'm still amazed that you and your partner managed to survive." He paused in front of the agent. "I'm sure it's a fascinating story, but my time is precious, so I will skip it and get down to business."

Raising his chin bravely, Artie said, "You mean torturing me?"

Loveless shook his head. "Don't tempt Voltaire; I'm sure he'd love to break your bones one by one leading to your inevitable death… But no." He briefly glanced at the giant who looked very disappointed. "I have found a way to kill Mr. West and you. We are in the cellar of an abandoned fire station. The people left but the installations stayed and are intact…"

Frowning, puzzled, Artie asked, "And what you just said is a part of your plan to kill us, right? Could you tell me more about it? I hate being left puzzled."

Miguelito Loveless chuckled coldly. "No, I won't, Mr. Gordon. I will tell you my plan when your partner gets here, not before. I don't want to spoil the surprise… But I can tell you it's related to the hurricane you managed to survive."

Frowning a bit more Artie was even more puzzled. "The hurricane?"

Loveless smiled ferally. "You will see in due time, Mr. Gordon, and your partner Mr. West too… He'll be joining us soon."

Suddenly two hulky men entered the cellar, framing, holding and supporting James West who was bound hand and foot.

He had a black eye and blood had oozed from his lower cut lip onto his chin.

The tallest thug said, "Here's West, boss! We got him!"

Loveless nodded. "I can see that, Mosley." He grinned. "Ah! Mr. West! I was expecting you." Then he watched the two men close the second pair of manacles around the younger agent's wrists. "I hope you had nothing planned tonight?"

Ignoring the little man, Jim looked with concern at Artie and asked, "Are you okay Artie?"

Smiling, the older man nodded. "Yes, I'm okay. But the pins and needles sensation is far from pleasant." He sighed. "I was expecting you to come to rescue me, no share my cell."

Cringing, Jim said, "Sorry buddy. I was bushwhacked. Those two gentlemen here were waiting for me in front of the hospital; they surprised me and knocked me out."

Dr. Loveless cackled mockingly. "So much for the great secret agent!" He paused and added, "Now that you're here too, I'm going to tell the two of you how you will die. Definitively. I'm sure you're going to like it. It will be pleasant at first, then less pleasant and deadly."

Looking falsely bored, Jim said, "Because you have such an overwhelming desire to tell us and then gloat it's a genius plan, tell us, please."

The gray haired diminutive man scowled and his blue eyes flashed in irritation. "Then I won't tell you. You will find out by yourselves in a few minutes. You have caused me more than enough trouble, but it's over now, or almost. Farewell, _messieurs_."

Smiling Artie said, "I think he might be a little upset."

Miguelito Loveless headed toward the door, followed by Voltaire and his two henchmen and let out, "Tick tock, tick tock…" And he cackled with glee. Then everyone left, the minion in tow closing the thick, metallic door behind him and locking it.

Silence.

Exchanging an alarmed gaze the two agents said, in a chorus, "It's a time bomb!" but they couldn't hear a single tick tock. "Hidden!" they added.

Pulling on his manacles, Jim tested their solidity, and then he jumped upward, grabbed the chain and climbed like a monkey up to the ceiling.

Once there, he wrapped his right leg around the chain to stabilize him to be able to unlock the manacles. He pulled out the lock pick hidden behind the collar of his jacket, in a mini pouch and quickly worked it in the lock and a couple of seconds later his wrists were free.

Proud of Jim, Artie said, "I'm so proud of you, Jim. It takes you only a few seconds now to use the lock pick to unlock manacles."

Jim smiled. "I had a very good teacher. You could have been a great cat burglar, Artie," he said and rubbed his reddened wrists. "Fortunately for us, the goons didn't find my lock pick when they rummaged through my clothes, but they took my fuses, matches and malleable explosive. It's too bad, because we could have used it to leave this place. But the lock pick should do the work."

He let himself drop to the ground in a flexible manner then he started to work with the lock pick on Artie's manacles. "Let's get out of here!"

He had just said that, when a series of deafening explosions resounded and large cracks appeared in the ceiling at the end of the cellar. Some stones fell to the ground, then more stones dropped and suddenly it broke with a bang and gallons and gallons of water cascaded inside the small room.

Paling with dread at the idea of drowning Artie remembered what Loveless had said about the fire station installations being intact. He had just destroyed the water reservoirs sitting on top of the cellar. And why the way to kill them was related to the hurricane: water.

Feeling the water sloshing around him, reaching his ankles, his shins, then his knees and waist and navel in a matter of seconds, Artie said to Jim, "We have to get out of here before it's too late Jim! Drowning is not my favorite way to die… Brrrr! That water is cold!"

Curious Jim asked, "And what's your favorite way?"

Rubbing his aching free wrists too, the older man followed Jim toward the door flinching and grimacing in pain each time he landed his left foot on the ground. "I know there's little chance with my profession that I die of old age in my bed, but I'd prefer it to this way," he finally responded.

Jim chuckled. "Surrounded by all the lovely women you knew in your life? There wouldn't be enough room in your bedroom for that."

His teeth chattering, Artie watched his best friend tying to open the door with the lock pick. He cringed in time with the younger man when the lock pick broke in two parts, one part stuck in the keyhole. Now it was impossible to open the door. "Damn!"

Frowning in annoyance, Jim responded. "I didn't think about it. Carpe diem." He had water up to his abdomen now and still rising.

Panicking Artemus looked at the water still cascading on the other side of the cellar. The level had now reached the base of the lanterns. "Okay, any idea? Before we die."

Placing a calming hand on Artemus's shoulder, Jim said, "We won't die. Relax Artie, for each problem there is a solution. You just have to find it." Glancing at the water still rushing in, he said, "Let's wait until the water has filled the cellar completely and then we will be able to go through the hole in the ceiling and swim through the reservoir. If I remember correctly, there's a metal ladder inside each reservoir so that they can scour the tank from time to time… We'll take it to leave."

Looking at the water level reaching the flames in the lanterns, Artie said. "Good idea. But we're going to go there in darkness…"

Everything went black. Water engulfing their shoulders and neck they guided themselves toward the cascade with its noise, less strong as the water level rose, again. They kept their mouth and nose above the surface for a few seconds water lapping around their ears and, finally the two agents were submerged.

Immediately, Jim ducked underneath the surface, wrapped an arm around Artie's waist, and helped him to swim upward as he was handicapped by his cast.

They reached the surface of the water still contained in the reservoir 30 seconds later and sucked in the cold air of the night.

Pointing at the ladder running along the side of the reservoir, lit by the full moon, Freezing, Artie rasped, "Let's go back to the hospital! For the record, I won't take a bath, anymore! Never!" Then he sneezed. He suddenly felt the rain begin to pour steadily down from the sky. "More water! Great!"

And, suddenly, thunder rumbled in the sky.

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE MONSTROUS STORM**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Two months, later_

 _March 22, 1873_

 _The Wanderer_

It was a stormy night.

Gusts of frigid wind were whirling around the Wanderer and a torrential downpour was beating against the sides of the train and its windows and drummed hard on its roof. Bright flashes of lightning and loud thunderclaps could be seen and heard all above Washington D.C.

But Artemus Gordon didn't care.

First because that thunderstorm was nothing compared to a hurricane, a hurricane he had _survived,_ and then because he had been focused on only one thing for the last couple of hours: scrubbing his sore and tired body from head to toe, meticulously, to get rid of his latest character's principal characteristics, it's foul smell. He had already taken three baths and used two bars of soap and a whole bottle of homemade sandalwood shampoo to do it. It was a foul smell he had created artificially, in his laboratory, with different chemical components. He usually used that ' _eau de sewers_ ' to go along with the special 'grime-covered and smelly' characters he played, to increase the authenticity of them and his favorite one was Mojave Mike. The downside was that this stench was very difficult to remove from the skin.

Once thoroughly cleaned, Artemus Gordon had filled the bathtub again, a fourth time, had added his latest invention to the water turning it green and he was now enjoying a relaxing bath.

Sitting in a bathtub filled with hot steaming water, broad shoulders submerged, the Secret Service agent closed his fingers around the glass of Cognac sitting on the narrow edge and took a sip. Then his head lolled back and he closed her eyes. The warm water was wonderful and the Cognac exceptional. "This is... heaven." He let out, with a blissful smile.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and he said, "Come in Jim!" and he watched Jim enter the bathroom a couple of seconds later.

He chuckled softly. Their mission was over but his partner was still 'disguised', meaning that he still had his faux moustache glued above his upper lip.

He had reprised his 'role' as Frank Slade for their last (successful) mission to stop a group of counterfeiters in Phoenix, and he, his character of Mojave Mike, with the dirtiness and the bad smell associated with it. He had even slept again in the hay, in a livery stable surrounded by dust, flies, rats and mice, dung and horse piss. 'Hence the bath', he thought. "You forgot to remove your moustache Jim," he said. Then he took another sip of his drink.

Frowning, Jim touched it and then removed it; grimacing as it pulled at the skin there. "I completely forgot I still had it." He placed it on the small table and sat on a stool. He sniffed at the perfumed air. "Did you actually put perfume in the… _green_ water, Artie?"

Smiling Artie shook his head. "No, it's not perfume, but a fragrance. I invented something I call a bath bomb, because it's fizzing…" He was interrupted when a sudden clap of thunder exploded violently, the loud BOOM of thunder rattling the whole train slightly in its formidable intensity. "… when plunged into water, and the sound produced is like the sound of a lit fuse… sorta. It's made with weak acid and a bicarbonate base which effervesces when wet. I added a scented ingredient as well as dye in it. The fragrance is sandalwood and I like green."

He swirled the golden-brown liquor, raising the glass to his mouth in the process and took a new sip of Courvoisier Napoleon Fine Champagne, closing his eyes in bliss, savoring it. "Dear God! That Cognac is a _nectar des Dieux_!" he said.

Leaning against the wooden bulkhead, his posture relaxed, Jim crossed his arms on his chest. "I forgot to tell you but I'm glad you changed your mind Artie…"

Arching a questioning eyebrow, Artie asked, "About what?"

Suddenly there was another flash of lightning and a particularly loud rumble of thunder. Jim waited it to pass before replying, "Remember, you told me you didn't want to bathe anymore after Loveless tried to drown us in that cellar, but you changed your mind, and I'm grateful you did, Artie. Especially after working at your side for the last three days – I mean at Mojave Mike's side. I was just waiting for one thing, that you take a bath. You were a stench on legs, buddy."

Setting down his glass on his flat belly in the middle of layers of green bubbles, Artie nodded. "Actually, I took three baths to get rid of Mojave Mike's stench."

Jim nodded. "And you needed a fourth bath for…?" He trailed off.

Artie took a sip of Cognac and said, "It's my _birthday_ , I'm 43, and I'm indulging myself with a hot bath while enjoying an awfully expensive Cognac I bought for that special occasion. It's my _birthday_ present to myself."

With a guilty look on his face Jim said, "Oh! It's your birthday! I knew I had forgotten something!" Then he cringed and added, "I'm so sorry Artie… We were so busy with that assignment… " He smiled. "Happy birthday! Do you think that saving your life this morning can count as a birthday present?"

Running a finger around the rim of his glass, frowning, upset, Artie shook his head. "No, because you do that almost _every day_." Then he scowled.

Jim stood, a wicked look on his face. He opened the door and took the small packet he had let in on the carpeted floor of the narrow walkway. Then he pulled up the stool, settled it beside the tub and placed the brightly colored packet on top of it. "Happy birthday Artemus!" he said to a now smiling Artemus. "Of course I didn't forget your birthday. How could I? You're like a brother to me."

Lowering his glass of Courvoisier Cognac to the stool, Artie took his birthday present. "Thank you," he said, very pleased. He wiped his hands on the towel that Jim had just handed him, gave it back to him and then he quickly got rid of the red and yellow paper covering a black box.

Jim's eyes sparkled in amusement and he chuckled quietly. "Impatient, aren't we?"

Artemus made a ball of the gift wrap and threw it to the floor over his shoulder – where it landed in a big basket, on top of a pile of his dirty clothes, joining a week's worth of dirty laundry.

He flicked the black box open and slowly pulled out a shining gold hunter-case pocket watch and its gold chain. He was speechless for a few seconds watching it glint in the faint light provided by a single gasoline lamp, then he let out, amazed, "Wow! Jim! It's-it's beautiful! I don't know what to say… except thank you."

Jim smiled again. "You're welcome."

The older man noticed his initials AG engraved on the cover and on the back, he read, "To my best friend, from JW. Happy 43 Birthday." His thumb resting on the bow of the watch at the 3 o'clock position, he opened it and saw it was a brand new model produced by the American Watch Company (AWCo). "I wanted to buy it… I remember now that you were at my side when I saw it in the watchmaker's shop on Main Street…"

Nodding, Jim said, "But you didn't buy it." He smiled and sat on the stool. "We were busy; we had to go the White House. Then you forgot it, but I didn't."

Placing the gold watch and chain back in its box, Artemus said, "Thank you Jim. It's a wonderful, a great gift. I love it." then he lowered it toward the stool.

Jim smiled. "I'm glad you love it. Happy birthday again."

"Thanks Jim!" Artie sipped the rest of his Cognac then he placed the empty glass on top of the stool where it joined his birthday gift.

He stood green water and bubbles cascading from his naked body, quickly rinsed his (again) solid frame then stepped out from the bathtub.

He took a bath towel Jim was handing him and used it to dry off his body. Then he wrapped his body in a black silk bathrobe.

He pocketed the box containing his watch and followed Jim into the narrow walkway. Lightning flashed across the dark sky and rain lashed against the windows.

They two men entered the galley a few seconds later.

Heading toward the stove, Jim grabbed the coffee pot warming on it and settled it on the small table while Artie took two mugs from the cupboard.

Pouring coffee in Artemus's mug, Jim said, "I made it, so you're going to say it tastes awful, unless you are magnanimous today. It's your birthday after all."

Narrowing his eyes, Artie took a sip of coffee and grimaced. "Gaah! Magnanimous? People should be hanged for making such awful coffee! It's a crime against humanity!"

Jim rolled his eyes heavenward and then said, "Don't you exaggerate, just a bit? It's not poison. So… are you going to pardon me, Artie?" Not waiting for Artie's response, he lowered the coffee pot to the table, opened the mini cold storage room where they kept perishable food and, from a shelf, he pulled out a golden cake with a walnut crumb topping and with 43 colored birthday candles. "And voilà!" He said, in French. He placed it on the table and quickly closed the double door. "Happy birthday Artemus!" he said. Then he fished a match box from a drawer enjoying his best friend's total and complete surprise.

Looking at the 'perfect' cake in amazement, Artemus exited his speechless state and said, "You made me a cake?"

Shaking his head, Jim said, "No, I didn't. I can't even boil eggs correctly."

Still gazing at his Polish birthday cake, Artie let out, "It's a _placek z kruszonka_ , literally 'cake with crumbs'…" And intrigued he frowned.

Jim started to light the candles. "Speaking of your mom's home, I know that I already told you that many times, but those two weeks spent at Green Hill after you left the hospital were fantastic! I enjoyed the fishing, the swimming and the canoeing in the Mississippi river, walking in the Eagle Ridge Forest to pick mushrooms and wild berries for your mom's Polish cuisine, and medicinal herbs for Harry, so he could prepare his famous special ointments and those evenings under the porch, wrapped in blankets, smoking cigars and drinking hot coffee laced with good whiskey…"

Looking suspiciously at the delicious cake, Artie said, "Where did you find someone who made a Polish coffee cake like this? I didn't know there was a Polish bakery here in Washington."

Lightening the last birthday candle, Jim said, "I heard that cake was your favorite so…" He headed toward the door and knocked. "I asked someone to make one for you."

Furrowing his brow, puzzled, Artie then gasped in surprise when his mother, Helena entered the galley two seconds later.

He grinned. "Mom!"

Jim's mouth tilted up into a smile. "Surprise! I sent someone to Green Hill to fetch your mom three days ago so she could be here with us tonight – and make your birthday cake."

Helena nodded. "And you found me a very luxurious hotel near the White House, Jim, where everyone is very nice to me. Thank you."

Jim bowed his head. "My pleasure. You deserve the best, Helena."

The petite, old woman took Artemus in her arms. She cupped his face and pressed a kiss to her beloved son's cheek, and, in response Artie kissed the top of Helena's gray head. "Hello Artemus. Happy birthday, Amy son!" she said then she smiled and added, "I missed you."

Pulling his mother in his arms, closer, Artie closed his eyes in pleasure. "Thank you mom and I missed you too. I usually don't like surprises… but I will make an exception for you." He parted from his mother and looked at Jim who was smiling. "Thank you very much Jim, it's a wonderful surprise and gift." Then he invited his mother to sit on a stool talking to her in Polish, " _Usiądź mama, proszę_ " (sit down mom, please). Then he pulled out a knife from a drawer. "I'm so happy you're here, mom," he added.

Reaching out for the knife Helena Gordon said, "I'm so happy to be here too, to attend your birthday, Artemus. Because you are usually wandering around in the country… But I'm sorry, Harry's not here. He had to stay in Greenhill. He has the flu and had to stay in bed - even doctors can be sick." Noticing that her son was concerned she added, "He's going to be alright. He can take care of himself." Then she cut three large pieces of the coffee cake. Then she placed each of them on a dessert plate that Jim had placed on the table. "He wrote a letter to you, I let it on the table in the other room… with all your presents."

Eyes opening wide, surprised, Artie let out, "All my presents? More presents for me?"

Helena nodded. "Yes, Artemus. I didn't come empty-handed, it's your birthday." Then she stood, took the pot of coffee and looking at Jim with a mocking smile, she said, "Let me prepare some good coffee. No offense, Jim, but yours is un-drinkable."

Outside the rain grew harder, cold drops pummeling the roof.

WWW

 _Outside_

Outside, two men were standing on the deserted station platform. Only flashes of lightning zigzagging across the dark sky lit them from time to time. They were protected by the porch from the hard rain pelting the roof, but not from the blowing chilly wind. They were frozen even wrapped each in a thick wooly coat, with hats on their heads and with hands protected by gloves.

One was a giant, the other a small man, and they were both looking at the Wanderer, focusing on the three dark silhouettes they could see behind the closed blinds of the last car, the lights projecting their shadows on the rain splattered windows.

Miguelito Loveless glanced up at Voltaire and said, "Life was boring before I met those men, Voltaire. Now it's not. And I like it." Then he shivered.

Opening the umbrella, feeling that his master was ready to go back in the carriage, Voltaire nodded. "But you will kill them?"

Loveless nodded. "Of course I will, they are two thorns in my side, but I want to play with them before their inevitable demise, like a cat plays with mice."

He flipped the collar of his coat up as his fertile imagination was already building ways of killing the two Secret Service agents. "Let's go. I have lots of things to attend to."

Thunder crashed through the sky again.

The end.


End file.
